


Someone to Stay

by antipositional, xtremeroswellian



Series: True Mates [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Brock Rumlow, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpine the Cat, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, Brooklyn Boys, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Domestic Violence, Family Dynamics, HYDRA sucks, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hydra is evil, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bucky Barnes, Panic Attacks, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Shrunkyclunks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Stalking, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, not between steve and bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 249,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antipositional/pseuds/antipositional, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: This… was not how Steve was expecting today to go at all. Even accounting for being recognized, which he does have to work into most of his plans for going out, he hasn’t been pulled into a kiss by a stranger in, oh, about seventy years.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Becca Barnes, James "Bucky" Barnes & Wanda Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, past Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter
Series: True Mates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104260
Comments: 192
Kudos: 576





	1. Chapter 1

His heart is beating quickly as he makes his way through the Brooklyn sidewalk traffic that afternoon, glancing over his shoulder every few moments to see if he’s still being followed. Each time, he can still see the man even though he’s kept a respectful distance between them so far. Except for the fact that the guy is still fucking _following_ him to begin with. 

Raking a hand through his short hair, Bucky exhales, trying to pull his rattled nerves into some semblance of order. It’s been harder to do that the last few months than ever before, and he doubts anyone can really blame him for being on constant edge, all things considered. He decides to take a new route, turning a corner and making his way down Decatur Street toward the market. 

The guy won’t touch him in public, he knows. He also knows the police won’t do a goddamn thing if he tries calling them. His ex isn’t a cop, but he might as well be. 

Glancing behind him once more, he groans with frustration to see that he still hasn’t managed to shake the guy. Maybe he could catch a taxi…

Just as he starts to seriously consider that -- even if he can’t really _afford_ it, it’ll at least be easier to lose him in the streets if he’s not on foot -- he spots a tall blond man on the corner, frowning down at the phone in his hand. He’s not sure what makes him do it, but he calls out. “There you are!”

Steve is still not really used to reading directions off his phone. The thing is, he’s not used to _needing_ directions at all, because this is Brooklyn and he grew up here -- but the thing also is, it’s like living in a weird funhouse Brooklyn, where everything is almost the same but not quite, and he actually ends up needing directions more than he’d like to admit. 

(Then again, when your eyesight is as crappy as his was growing up, you tend to learn your way around by landmarks; and admittedly, nearly all of those landmarks are gone.) 

But it’s a nice day, and it hadn’t seemed like navigating by phone would be all that hard. Except it is, and he’s standing there frowning at the little blinking dot in its colorful, cartoon street map like it can tell him why he isn’t where he expected to be, when he hears a voice that makes him look up, despite not being the only person out on the street. 

But it seems like his instinct was right, because there’s a man making his way toward Steve with a single-minded determination that says he knows what he’s doing and he’s intending to do it. Steve can’t help the way his gaze fixes on the man, the hand with the phone dropping a little and his mouth opening a bit as he says, now that the guy is in range, “Uh -- yeah, here I am.” 

Is it because the guy recognizes Steve? That does happen -- not as often as you’d think it might, but that’s because people don’t expect _Captain America_ to be walking around on the street. (Well. People don’t expect Captain America to be alive; it’s only been two years, they still forget.) And even if they do, they seem to expect him to be wearing the red, white, and blue getup from the forties, or some form of forties fashion, and not the regular jeans and t-shirts and hoodies that people all seem to wear these days. People, including Steve, because he’s not stupid. Standing out is honestly the last thing he wants to do -- at least, on his days off. 

Bucky can’t help casting a wary glance behind him once more, and sure enough -- the man’s still there even if he’s slowed down. He looks back at the tall blond, whose attention is now definitely focused on him, and _Jesus_ , he’s actually gorgeous. His heart is beating impossibly fast and he wonders if he’s really about to do this -- it’s crazy, he _knows_ that, but he doesn’t know any other ways to get the man following him to back off and leave him alone. 

He grins at the man as he makes his way toward him, licking his lips nervously. “Please just go with it for a few minutes,” he says, voice just loud enough for the blond to hear. He hesitates a moment before moving closer and resting a hand at the back of his head, tugging him down for a soft kiss, eyes drifting shut. 

This… was not how Steve was expecting today to go at all. Even accounting for being recognized, which he does have to work into most of his plans for going out, he hasn’t been pulled into a kiss by a stranger in, oh, about seventy years. 

He actually hasn’t been pulled into a kiss by someone who’s _not_ a stranger for roughly the same amount of time, which probably shows in the fact that even when ‘going along with it,’ Steve is not an experienced kisser. 

But he _is_ going along with it. Because everything else aside, the guy has this look in his eyes, like not-quite-perfectly concealed anxiety, and he’s giving off the same scent. It’s nothing anyone else would’ve probably picked up, but Steve’s stupid, oversensitive (alpha) nose definitely has; and that, coupled with the look on the guy’s face and the actual spoken plea, is enough to have Steve’s hand curling around the man’s lower back, palm resting flat there in a way that he hopes conveys _I’ve got you_ while at the same time saying, _I’m not trapping you here_. 

It feels like Bucky’s brain shorts out the moment their lips meet, and all thoughts of his douchebag-of-an-ex-boyfriend following him are briefly obliterated. Something he can’t identify makes a bit of his anxiety ease, and he’s not sure if it’s the easy way that the blond has gone along with this farce or if it’s because of his sheer size. Either way, it signals to something in his brain that he’s _safe_ , and he knows his ex well enough to know that he won’t make a scene in public even if he clearly gets off on intimidating Bucky every chance he gets. 

The blond’s hand is warm against his back, even through the dark blue cotton henley he’s wearing. He pulls away slowly, not really in a hurry because despite his anxiety, despite not wanting to rope someone else into his troubles, it’s nice to be _touched_. Kissed. And the man’s lips are softer than he’d thought they would be, and he’s wearing just a touch of cologne that smells _really_ good. 

Sometimes, Steve still feels like he’s learning how to use this big, strong, alpha body. But sometimes -- a lot of the time, including now -- it’s worth it, because if something is wrong, and he can help, his instincts (alpha or omega, it never mattered) say he’d better jump to it. 

His eyes do scan the crowd, though, around the curve of the brunette’s head. If there’s a threat, he wants to be ready to meet it. 

It’s a lot to process at once -- fortunately, processing a lot at once is exactly what Steve’s designed to do, and he was actually not bad at it before the serum, either. Right now, though, his attention feels pulled in several different directions: whatever possible threat is coming, the -- frankly amazing -- taste of this guy’s lips (should he be noticing or thinking that?), the way the body pressed up close feels solid and warm, the way the nervousness that was bubbling up from the guy seems to start to fade, the longer the kiss goes on. 

Steve doesn’t _see_ anyone headed for them, and the search admittedly stops as soon as the man in his arms shifts and starts to pull away. Steve follows suit, pulling back immediately even if his hand slips over a little, to rest at the guy’s hip, like he’s still trying to hold him close, protect him. 

Bucky is holding his breath when the kiss ends, and he’s relieved to realize that no one is really paying them any attention. Points for New York, one of the best places to be if you need to hide in plain sight and not draw any attention to yourself regardless of whether you’ve just laid one on the most attractive man in the city or not. His hand moves to rest against the man’s shoulder and he glances over his own, eyes searching the crowd. 

He’s gone. A rush of air escapes him as relief washes over him. Thank God. Except now he’s gotta deal with the fallout of his own impulsive actions. He chews his lower lip and glances up at the blond through his eyelashes, feeling uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. “Thank you. I’m sorry,” he begins.

That protective instinct is still blaring at the back of his brain, and for a moment _that’s_ all Steve can really focus on, until the other actually speaks. 

And Steve frowns. “What? No, I --” He stops himself before he can say he smelled the guy’s panic; firstly, it’s rude to just _say that_ , and secondly, most people wouldn’t be able to, without being bonded or soulmates or maybe family. Steve’s just the one with the super-sensitive nose, and it feels way too invasive to admit, so he bites it back and instead finishes with, “Don’t apologize. I mean, it seemed important.” 

Which is what also makes him ask, “Should I walk you home? Or -- somewhere safe?” 

He’s not about to pretend he’s okay with random strangers just kissing him, but this seems like extenuating circumstances. He’s suddenly not even sure if the guy’s clocked him as Cap. And either way, it doesn’t matter -- if he was running from someone or something, then Steve’s going to help him see this through. Omegas _shouldn’t_ need big, strong alphas to walk them home. But maybe for once, playing into the stereotype might be for the best, dirty and conflicted though it might make Steve feel. 

Part of Bucky is expecting the other man to demand an explanation; after all, it’s not often that a stranger marches up and kisses you out of the blue. He’s braced himself for anger, maybe even a punch to the face, but he hasn’t prepared himself for the possibility of _concern_ , which is what he’s actually faced with. His lips part and he hesitantly looks at the other guy -- _an alpha_ , he’s certain, even though there’s not really a way of telling by looking at someone; his gut tells him he’s right. Or maybe he’s just subconsciously picked up on pheromones. 

He’s annoyed with himself for letting Brock get to him like this, for _allowing_ himself to be intimidated by anyone, really. He’d been a soldier, dammit. And a good one. But months of physical therapy still haven’t recovered the full use of his left arm and by now he’s accepted that it might not happen at all, and he knows that it makes him more vulnerable than he used to be. He hates it, but he’s also not stupid by any means. Chances are Brock has fucked off for the time being, but there’s a tiny part of him that’s worried he’ll turn up waiting for Bucky outside the shop, and he knows if that’s true, Brock will be _really_ pissed. 

“I’m -- “ Bucky hesitates, wondering again about the wisdom of dragging some unknown stranger into his drama. It isn’t fair, and for all he knows this guy’s even worse than Brock ever thought about being. But no. His mind shuts that thought down as soon as he thinks about it. He’s always been a good judge of character when he’s in his right mind. The blond isn’t a threat, even if he is an alpha. There’s far too much sincerity clouding his blue eyes. 

Everything about the guy’s body language says he’s torn. That makes Steve feel a little less bad for offering, but he isn’t about to insist. People can make decisions for themselves. He’s got no right to decide for them, and he wouldn’t blame this complete and total stranger, who was obviously looking to get away from some kind of bad situation, for not wanting Steve -- also a complete and total stranger -- to know where he works, let alone lives. 

Even if he’s got to give the guy props for creativity in getting out of said bad situation. His lips still feel a little warm and tingly, and the part of him that feels like it should lecture the guy on why you shouldn’t just kiss random strangers is not loud enough to bother listening to.

“I need to head back to work,” Bucky finally admits, scratching the back of his neck absently. “I’m sure you have more important things to do -- it looked like you were doing something important.” He motions toward the phone in Steve’s hand. 

Since the serum, Steve’s had a better intuition for alpha and omega than he used to. Doctors have blamed it on his heightened sense of, well, everything. Still, he’s never felt quite like _this_ before, even toward other people he’s been sure were omegas. And whatever he is feeling now, it makes it easy for him to make a soft, dismissive sound, and pull the hand with the phone around to show the other guy the little blinking dot. “Nah. I was just getting lost.” 

And besides, “It’s my day off,” he adds. “I don’t have anywhere to be. But --” He frowns again, because he realizes that what he’s doing, right here and now, is exactly the kind of thing he used to hate. “If you say you’re okay, then you’re okay. I just wanted to offer. In case it might help.” 

The man’s voice is earnest in a way that Bucky is so unfamiliar with at this point, he feels a little like he’s stepped onto a merry-go-round. The fact that the expression on his face matches that earnestness makes something in chest feel tight and warm and God -- he shouldn’t do this. He’ll probably end up regretting it later, but he’s so tired that his shoulders drop almost involuntarily as he exhales. 

“If you’re sure,” he says, voice quieter than before. “It’s a few blocks in the opposite direction.” Because Brock had, of course, chosen his lunch hour to show up. Maybe he should have just ordered something in and locked the doors while he ate. But it’s such a nice day that all morning he’d been looking forward to going outside, getting some fresh air. He spends so much time at the shop already that once in a while he can’t stop himself when he gets the urge to go out. 

The guy honestly still looks a little shell shocked by the offer; it makes Steve frown a little without realizing, wondering just what kind of situation he’s coming from -- and whether it’s really that weird to offer to walk someone somewhere these days. That… might be it, he reasons. People don’t do things they way they used to, and he’ll still say or do something that seems perfectly normal and end up getting a lot of very strange looks for it. He’s doing his best to fit in, but seventy years of societal change is apparently a lot more than a person might bank on. 

“I’m sure. It’s nice out. Gotta get my exercise, right?” That’s a thing people do seem to say these days; Steve laughs maybe a little awkwardly, but then he finally pockets his phone and sticks out his hand -- either for shaking or for grabbing, if the guy thinks they might still be being watched. Steve isn’t so naive to think that just because he doesn’t see a threat means it’s not there. “I’m Steve,” he says, quietly. “You don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to.” But it’s not like he’s not used to people knowing his already. In fact, half of him expects this guy to just say, _I know_. 

Bucky watches him for a moment, glancing down at his hand when he offers it, and finds himself relaxing even more at the introduction _and_ the reassurance. He sticks his own hand out, shaking Steve’s. “Bucky,” he tells him. “It’s - a nickname.” It’s his preference over his real name, anyway. “Nice to meet you, Steve.” His eyes meet the blonde’s and he manages a real smile this time, not the forced _please play along_ kind that he’d displayed moments before. 

Steve’s smile goes from a little awkward to genuinely pleased; nickname or not, it feels like he’s being trusted with something important, and his grip is sure as they shake hands. “Well. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. You’re the best kiss I’ve had in longer than I should probably admit.” 

Which… maybe just makes it awkward all over again, as Steve’s smile turns a little helpless and he takes his hand back, indicating the sidewalk. “Lead on.” 

The comment about being the best kiss Steve’s had in while catches Bucky off guard entirely and a short bark of laughter escapes him. “Yeah, well. Likewise.” And it’s not a lie. Brock might be a decent kisser, but there’s never really been anything resembling warmth in his affections. 

But he can see that the other feels a little awkward with his own words, so Bucky nods and turns the other way. 

Honestly, being told he’s _Bucky’s_ best kiss in a while catches Steve just as much off guard. “Oh, God -- I’m sorry?” he offers, laughing a little as they start walking.

Of course, Steve doesn’t plan to just trail after Bucky. As they get moving, he falls into step with him like they _are_ friends, keeping his hands to himself but in a loose, carefree way that won’t say he’s trying not to touch the other, only that he’s choosing not to at the moment.

Bucky’s relieved at the way Steve falls into step with him, just as Steve asks, “Has this happened before?” 

The question is quiet and casual, not in any way insinuating that Bucky hasn’t been able to handle an ongoing situation. But Steve’s wondering whether he should be offering more than a short walk. “Or -- should I just shut up and look pretty?” 

Not that Steve has ever been good at the latter.

Bucky blinks, though, at the wording, casting a sidelong glance at Steve and momentarily doubting if he really _is_ an alpha. He decides to play that off lightly, too. “Well, you don’t have anything to worry about with the pretty part, Steve.” He shoots him a playful grin. 

But he considers the question, figuring Steve has the right to ask, considering he’d just unwittingly saved his ass. Plus, alphas tend to expect answers when they ask questions. “A couple times. Just -- an ex that doesn’t like to take no for an answer.” He says it casually when it feels anything _but_. 

“Well, good on you for making him an ex,” feels like all Steve can say to that -- and it definitely doesn’t feel like enough. 

Bucky smiles more fleetingly at that, knowing he should have ended things with Brock a lot sooner than he had, but it is what it is. 

People like that -- people who think they’re _entitled_ to someone else -- are pretty high on Steve’s list of people he doesn’t like. Nobody owns anybody else, not even when they’re bonded, not in his book. But he knows that a lot of people -- a lot of alphas -- don’t see it that way, and that is not how it’s supposed to work. Relationships, any relationships, are supposed to be partnerships. Give and take. Not just one or the other. 

But it seems like that’s all Bucky wants to say about that, and Steve has no right to pry deeper. He knows he wouldn’t want someone to do that to him, and he wants to extend that courtesy to Bucky. Even though what that means is turning the focus back on himself, in a manner of speaking, as he laughs self-consciously and runs a hand through his short hair, making it stand up a little in disarray. “I guess that’s something,” he offers, though it’s hard to joke about things like that when he’s spent so much of his life adamantly against them. But this isn’t a rally, or a protest, or a speech, or anything. This is just him trying to do the right thing and walk a guy to work. 

And yet somehow, he already feels like a mess, trying to make conversation and good God, this is why he doesn’t date. He clears his throat and buries his hand back in his pocket before asking, “Where do you work?” like he’s not going to see it for himself when they get there. 

Bucky can’t help but marvel over Steve’s self-consciousness. The guy is built like a brick shithouse and he’s gorgeous to boot. _And_ polite enough to walk him home, which is an actual first. 

“Book Barnes,” he answers with a tiny, wistful smile. “Heard of it?” It’s been around for a while, since his grandpa was in his late sixties and decided that instead of retirement, he’d wanted to own a bookstore. His grandma had passed by then already, and his gramps had never been one to “sit around on his laurels.” 

Steve tilts his head, giving the name some consideration, but -- “I haven’t,” he has to admit; though this time his embarrassment is good-natured. “But I’ve been gone for a while. The landscape’s changed and I’m not, uh, up on most of the new additions.” That is the right use of the term. He thinks. 

But even without having heard of it, he grins a little. “Let me guess. Bookstore?” He might even look a little excited at the prospect, because he might not know all the places that have changed and cropped up since he enlisted and left, but he does know that bookstores seem to be going out of fashion -- and he likes to read. Real books, not just something on a screen. So if the place really is a bookstore, it kind of feels like Steve’s lucky day, despite it all. 

Or maybe _despite_ isn’t really the right word. Even given the circumstances. 

Bucky’s not sure whether to laugh or wince, really. The store doesn’t do near the kind of business it did back when his gramps was running it, but he’s determined to do what he can turn that around. Hopefully. “Yeah.” He smiles, too, glancing sideways at Steve as they walk. 

“It’s kinda tucked away in a weird spot, but when it was first built it was right next door to a ma and pa’s grocery store. ‘Course, that’s been gone for ages now. You like to read?” There’s a hint of hopefulness in his voice. He already has an idea nestled in his head. 

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says, with maybe a little undercurrent of a laugh. “Everything I can get my hands on.” He shrugs a little. “I still prefer books to a screen. I guess I’m old-fashioned like that.” Not that it _feels_ old-fashioned -- but then, there’s a lot in his life that feels that way. Completely normal for him -- and completely out of step with the rest of the world. 

Bucky’s face brightens at that. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. There’s something about having an actual book in your hands -- the electronic kind doesn’t do it justice. And I’m not just saying that because of personal gain.” He laughs quietly. “I like the way they smell. The texture of the pages. Plus, it’s easier on your eyes than a screen anyway, and who can afford bad eyes, really?” Especially when you've already got a bum arm. 

“Bad eyes are not a thing you want to live with,” Steve agrees, tone teasing enough, but there’s some undercurrent of truth, of deeper understanding, there as well. But really, most of his attention is on the way Bucky looks, having perked up a little, lips curved upward in a smile instead of flat and thin with tension. It’s a good look on him -- and, Steve tells himself, of course it is, because nobody wants to see another person looking tense and unhappy. That’s just reasonable. 

He _has_ noticed that Bucky holds his left arm differently than his right. He has also, by sheer force of will, not asked whether the alleged ex had anything to do with it, or whether Bucky wants someone to take a look at it. If there’s anything Steve actually _can_ be tactful about, it’s people’s abilities to manage their own hurts. 

But he can still worry, even if he doesn’t say anything.

“I still prefer the little ma and pa grocery stores, too,” he finally says, lips tugging into a crooked half-smile. “But like you said -- they’re even harder to find than bookstores, these days. What kind of books do you sell?” Some of the places he’s found that are still open are mostly specialty shops, low on books and longer on gifts and novelties. But Bucky asked if he liked to read, so maybe the store he works in has more of a selection. Steve’s already wondering if it would be weird to browse around after walking him back. Or to stop by later -- would that make it more weird, or less? 

Bucky’s too caught up in his own love for books, and thoughts of the store, to notice the way Steve’s looking at him, but the interest in his voice _doesn’t_ escape his stellar observational skills. 

“Sell a little of everything, but we specialize in stuff that’s hard to get in print these days,” he admits. “Spend a lot of time searching eBay and other websites looking for treasures.” He smiles. “Do a lot of business with other shops across the country, too, especially if someone puts in a request for something specific.” 

“It sounds real nice,” Steve’s got to admit, looking impressed and not trying to hide it. And, finally, he decides that -- being weird be damned. At least, not without asking: “Can I come in and look, or would that just be weird?” 

The question gives Bucky pause and he glances at Steve sideways, offering him a small, wry grin. “I think considering the way I basically jumped on you back there, it’s probably the least weird outcome of the day, Steve.” 

There’s a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. He can just imagine what his next encounter with Brock is going to be like. He’d lied to him weeks ago and told him he’d moved on, that he’d found someone else, but Brock had simply scoffed. Rightly so, considering how very single Bucky still was. Either seeing Bucky kissing another guy is going to finally make him back off, or _really_ piss him off. Brock wasn’t the most predictable at the best of circumstances. 

“I’ve gotta be honest, my rubric for ‘weird’ is kind of skewed,” Steve says, but that grin of Bucky’s -- that really, really nice-looking wry grin of Bucky’s -- basically tells him that Bucky means what he says. It won’t be too weird, and Steve’s going to do it, then. Because he really would like to look around, just as much as he really would like to make sure Bucky gets safely to where he’s going with no more run-ins with the ex. 

“For example, you aren’t the first stranger who’s ever grabbed me and kissed me? I mean, it doesn’t happen a _lot_ , but… it’s happened before. Once. Under different circumstances, I don’t think she was trying to throw somebody off the chase so much as trying to have some fun, but -- I should probably stop talking about that and more about books,” Steve decides mid-sentence, and yeah, when did he become absolute shit at talking to people? 

Maybe, he thinks, when he got pulled out of a block of ice and into an era where he has exactly zero friends and exactly all the work acquaintances. All of whom are… intense. And not the kind of people he thinks a person can just spend time with. 

Not that he’s given too much thought to a person just to spend time with, in a long time. 

Bucky can’t help the way his eyebrows rise the more Steve goes on, restraining himself from making a comment about how he’s _not_ all that surprised that he isn’t the first who’s grabbed and kissed him. He’s surprised it’s only happened one other time, frankly. Not that it’s polite to go around kissing complete strangers, but if you have to do it, apparently Steve’s the best person to do it _with._ He’s known him all of ten minutes and he already likes him. He’s always been a people person, even if the last few months have made things complicated. 

“No, feel free. Sounds like you’ve lived an interesting life.” His voice is light, a hint of teasing there. He tries not to focus too much on the thought that Steve might very well be bonded with someone. Not that it matters, really. After today it’s unlikely he’ll see him again, anyway. He tries to ignore the tug of sadness that thought brings with it. “I have to say, though, it was a first for me. I don’t generally go around kissing strange guys, no matter how attractive they are.” His cheeks grow warm and he shakes his head. 

Steve just snorts a little, leaning in and bumping Bucky gently on the shoulder for that. “Yeah, like I said -- my rubric for weird is definitely skewed.” Calling his life interesting is like calling the Mona Lisa a well-known painting. It’s not untrue, it’s just definitely lowballing things. 

Although, “It’s probably not the best thing to do a whole lot, in polite society,” he adds, with a laugh this time. “But under extenuating circumstances… well. I hope you don’t need to use it as an out again.”

He actually opens his mouth, about to add, _Maybe I should give you my number, so you could just text next time._ But that seems… back to weird. So he shuts it again, honestly not sure where the hell all of this is coming from. 

Steve can _make_ himself act like a people person. But he isn’t much of one, naturally. He’s usually too prickly or too fixated on something else. With Bucky, though, it’s easy. It feels like he’s known him a lot longer than a handful of minutes. It -- might be the pheromones, he tries to reason. He’s on suppressants, of course, and even ones specifically tailored to his super soldier physiology. But the problem is, he keeps developing a resistance to them over time, and that means if no one’s upped his dose in a while, he starts to notice. 

Maybe that’s what this is. Urges and instincts leaking through. He’d probably better talk to somebody about it on Monday, unsavory though those conversations always are. 

Bucky chuckles quietly at the playful shoulder bump, shaking his head ruefully. “Yeah. I hope I don’t either. No offense to you, by any means.” His voice goes more sincere and they pause at a stop light. “Honestly… I half expected to get punched in the face.” He wouldn’t have even blamed Steve for it. If someone grabbed and kissed _him_ , he’d definitely have thrown a punch. Fortunately for his face, Steve hadn’t reacted that way. Because given his size, he’s sure it would have hurt. A lot. 

Steve hums. “Once upon a time, I might’ve,” he says, which is not untrue. He’d had plenty of alphas give him a hard time when he was growing up, either heckling him for being useless, or heckling him because he wouldn’t make time with them, which was the only use they figured he had. _That_ kind of thing had definitely warranted a punch in the face. 

But Bucky? Bucky had looked at him with tension in every line of his body, and anxiety and pleading in his scent, and Steve _can’t_ tell him that, but it had counted for more than anything. “Lucky for you, I’ve grown as a person.” 

And isn’t that just the most hilarious pun Steve has ever delivered in his life, and -- he really doesn’t think Bucky realizes who he is, so it’s going to fall on deaf ears. 

“Lucky for me,” Bucky agrees quietly. There had been an ample amount of people on the sidewalk and he could have picked any of them, but in the moment it felt like he’d had tunnel vision. His gaze had landed on Steve, and it had been like there weren’t any other options at all. Strange, probably. Fortunately for him it had worked out all right, for once. There’s a hint of humor in Steve’s voice, though, and he glances at him, curious, feeling like he’s missed out on a joke he should have understood. 

But he also doesn’t question him about it. 

“Seriously, though. You should definitely come in and look around. It’s not like other bookstores. I mean, not really.” Bucky rakes his right hand through his hair absently, bringing the conversation back around to safer things. “I used to just go and hang out there when I was growing up. There’s these really comfy chairs and we do free tea or coffee for whoever wants it.” It’s something his gramps had always insisted on -- giving people something to sip while they browsed or just hunkered down in one of the chairs and read for a while. 

“It sounds like this place has been around a while,” Steve says. “Did you want to work there when you were a kid, too?” 

“Oh. Yeah. God, yeah. It’s - it was my grandpa’s shop,” Bucky confesses. “I loved spending time there. Especially in the summers.”

“That sounds nice,” Steve says, and it’s not just an empty statement. It _does_ sound nice. “All the books you can read, and your family right there? Now I think I’m jealous.” Although he hadn’t missed the _was_ in that sentence. “He doesn’t own it anymore?” 

Bucky draws in a slow breath and then exhales. “No, he passed a couple years ago. 86 years old. Lived a nice long life.” He doesn’t mention that he’d missed the funeral because of his second tour of duty in Afghanistan. Doesn’t mention that he still hasn’t brought himself to go and visit his grave even though he knows he should. Knows he _needs_ to. “He was a great guy. Always wanted to be just like him, you know?” His voice is wistful. 

“Yeah -- that is a long life.” It is -- and Steve can’t help but think of how old the guy would’ve been, when he’d been growing up, and that just serves to make him feel old all over again, even if he manages to shove that down pretty quick. “Well, you must have succeeded at least a little bit, if you’re working his store now.” He almost says more, but he doesn’t want to presume anything about Bucky’s family and end up putting his foot in his mouth. He’s flexible, but that’s never any fun. “I spent a lot of time as a kid reading, too, but it was all library books.” 

Bucky doesn’t correct Steve by telling him that he’s now the owner of Book Barnes. He’s not entirely sure but he can’t shake the feeling that Steve’s either assumed he’s an omega, or he’s just a very protective kind of guy if someone seems like they’re in trouble, and if on the off chance he’s pegged him wrong, he can’t risk losing the store. So he simply hums in his throat, crossing the street when the light changes and leading him down another city block toward the store, anxiety spiking momentarily as he scans the area for any sign of Brock. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t see him anywhere around. It doesn’t mean he’s not lurking nearby, because he seems to do that a lot, but he thinks he might be out of the woods for the time being. 

Steve maybe doesn’t miss the way Bucky starts getting tenser as they approach what must be the bookstore. He definitely doesn’t miss the way Bucky starts looking around, like he’s scanning for active threats -- does he think his ex will show up here? That admittedly gets Steve’s hackles up a little, but a moment later Bucky relaxes, and Steve slowly starts to do the same. 

They amble up to the front door of, from Steve’s very first impression, a comfortable, inviting bookshop nestled, between two other storefronts. “Always loved libraries, too,” Bucky tells him, glancing at him with a small, warm smile as he pulls the keys to the shop out of his jeans pocket, pausing in front of the door and unlocking it, stepping inside and flipping the lights on, and flipping the sign to “open” once more. “Come on in. Make yourself comfy.” 

The scent of well-worn paper hits Steve square in the face, and he kind of can’t help the way he inhales deeply. It _is_ a good smell. Maybe especially with that subtle smell of _Bucky_ laced through it -- and that feels pretty damn invasive, so Steve cuts that thought right off and starts breathing like a normal human being again. 

“Thanks,” he says, grabbing the door over Bucky’s head as the other precedes him in, stepping into the store behind him and letting the door swing shut behind them. “I’ll just -- I’d like to take a look around. Just pretend I’m not here.” 

He offers a smile that he hopes is stupid and reassuring, but which might be bordering on shy, and starts off down the first row of shelves, because he means it. He wants to take a look around. 

Bucky can’t quite shake the warm feeling in his chest at the smile that Steve gives him before disappearing in between a row of bookshelves, and a soft smile touches his mouth, too. He moves toward the table by the counter, picking up the empty pot of coffee and then heading to the bathroom tucked into the back of the store, washing it out thoroughly before filling it with cold water and replacing it in the coffee pot, starting a fresh pot of coffee. He doesn’t know if Steve _likes_ coffee, but he spends a few minutes straightening things up -- including the little single packs of tea and the mugs that are set there. 

He keeps an eye on the door as he works, just in case a customer decides to wander in, or god forbid, _Brock_. 

Then he settles himself behind the counter, curling up in his comfortable chair and picking up the book he’s currently reading, _The Taking_ by Dean Koontz. It had come out when he was still in high school, but it’s one of his favorites, and within moments he’s completely absorbed into the story, the smell of coffee wafting through the air. 

It’s easy to get lost among the books -- the smell, the feel, the (admittedly strong) nostalgia. But it’s also a little tempting to _stay_ lost, as Steve hears the sounds of Bucky shuffling around the front of the store, then the sound of running water and, not long after, the unmistakable smell of percolating coffee. 

Steve does like coffee -- and tea, which he learned to drink in England -- and his lips tick up at Bucky’s thoughtfulness, despite the fact that the other had clearly said he offers free tea and coffee to anyone who comes in the shop. Right now, that’s just Steve, and it feels private and quiet and he isn’t quite sure what he’s going to do when he has to come back to the front of the shop and face Bucky again. Not that it’s hard, but that’s actually why it’s hard -- it’s easy to talk to Bucky already, and that isn’t something he’s used to. So Steve maybe lets himself get a little lost, just for a few minutes.

Bucky is vaguely aware of Steve moving through the stacks as he reads, but it doesn’t set his nerves on edge the way it might have if it were anyone else. If anything, knowing he’s around eases his mind in a way he can’t really explain. He chalks it up to the fact that Steve helped him out when he didn’t have to, that he actually walked him back to work to make sure he was _safe_ , and that he actually seems to be a genuinely good person. It’s strange, because Steve is definitely a lot bigger than he is, and these days that usually makes him uneasy, but -- it’s somehow different. Like it wouldn’t cross his mind to use his sheer size as a reason to intimidate someone.

When Steve does reappear at the front, it’s with a couple of books carefully tucked into the crook of his elbow, to find Bucky lost in a book of his own. “See, that’s the real perk of working someplace like this,” he says, coming back up to the counter. “You just get to read all day when you don’t have any customers.” 

Bucky grins involuntarily as Steve approaches the counter. “You’re not wrong,” he says easily, marking his page with a bookmark of the aurora borealis and setting it to the side. He rises to his feet, curious to see what Steve had found in his perusal of the store. “Please help yourself to a cup of coffee. Or tea if you want.” He leans his arms on the counter. “Or if you’d prefer hot chocolate, I have that, too, but that’s a secret that you’re now under obligation to keep. I won’t make it for just anyone.” 

Steve’s got a couple of classics -- well, classics by most people’s definitions, but in truth, they’re on his list because he’s never read them: _Fahrenheit 451_ , _Catch-22_ , _I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings_. But he’s also got two straight-out history books (funny enough, both on “his” war, but he’s maybe been trying to get as many perspectives on it as he can, see what people think about it after the fact, for all the righteous anger that sometimes causes) and one art history book, because its pages were large and colorful and he’s already flipped through at least half of it, and it seems only fair to actually pay for the thing at that point. Plus, his apartment is pretty bare on color; maybe he can find some pieces in here to copy for some practice before he dives into doing anything more on his own. He hasn’t really done a lot of drawing, let alone painting, since 1941. And that was before he could even _see_ the color red. 

He sets the stack down and is just humming, trying to figure out how to say that hot chocolate sounds pretty amazing without feeling guilty over making Bucky put in any extra work to get it for him, when at that moment, a six-pound ball of white fur leaps down from the top of the bookshelf behind Bucky and onto the counter, tail swishing back and forth. 

“Uh, you’re not allergic to cats, right?” Bucky asks, reaching out to collect her just in case. 

Steve blinks -- but then he shakes his head, laughing a little. “I don’t think so,” he admits, because he’s never exactly tested it after the serum, but it would be pretty ridiculous to be immune to every pathogen and chemical toxin known to man, only to be felled by a cat. “D’you pay her in tuna fish?”

Bucky strokes his hand down the cat’s spine gently, smiling when she headbutts his forehead. He laughs at the insinuation that she’s an employee. “Tuna fish, chicken, Purina. Pretty much whatever she wants as long as it’s okay for her to eat it without hurting her.” The cat turns to look at Steve, eying him curiously and letting out a meow that sounds far too big to come from her little body. “Her name’s Alpine.” 

Steve doesn’t have a lot of experience with cats, but this one seems all right. He leans a little closer, keeping his hands to himself, not sure whether she’s only friendly with Bucky or whether she might be amenable to a stranger, too -- although he can’t imagine letting her run freely around the store if she’s got too big a problem with new people. “Hi, Alpine. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Bucky finally glances at the books that Steve’s set on the counter, eager to see what he’d found and a little surprised that there are so many in the stack. He makes a quiet, pleased sound, though. “You like art?” he asks, nodding toward the books and then shifting his gaze back to Steve’s face. 

Steve smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. I -- used to be an artist. If taking one year of art school and painting signs on the side for half a living counts.” He realizes too late that nobody probably paints signs anymore, but it’s out and he can’t take it back. And it is the truth. “I haven’t picked up a pencil in a while, though. I thought maybe this’d inspire me, you know?” 

Bucky studies him curiously but without any traces of judgement in his eyes. For an alpha -- which is still an assumption on his part -- to admit that he’s interested in art is uncommon, to say the least. But maybe he’s just that secure in who he is, in which case, is pretty incredible if you ask Bucky. The overwhelming majority of alphas he’s met have been the exact opposite.

“Yeah?” His eyes widen a little at that, gaze immediately flickering to the welcome sign at the front of the store that’s in dire need of being redone. “What do you do for a living the rest of the time?” He can’t help but ask. 

Alpine walks closer to Steve, leaning down and sniffing at his hands on the counter before lying down on his stack of books and stretching out as though claiming them for herself. 

Steve ends up laughing a little as the cat claims his books, mostly because, “You know, if your cat claims all the books back, it’s gotta be hard to sell ‘em.” Bucky chuckles at Alpine’s antics, too, because she’s ridiculously full of personality and has no problem showing it. 

But Steve’s still got to answer the question of what else he does for a living. The answer to which is, of course, pretty much _all_ Steve does for a living these days. He barely keeps the grimace at bay and, if anything, he seems almost more embarrassed about explaining this than the art, when maybe it should be the other way around: “Uh -- special ops. I’m sort of…” 

_What_ , he thinks, _sort of Captain America?_

Bucky _definitely_ doesn’t know. He can’t know, because pretending not to know at this point would be cruel, and Steve’s only known the guy about half an hour, but he knows already that Bucky isn’t cruel. And he can’t say why he doesn’t want to just tell him, except that when most people realize, they suddenly don’t seem to know how to act around him anymore and there are a hundred ways to make it awkward and Steve just doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want things to actually get awkward. Not now, not this time, if he can help it. 

“They call me in when they need me and the rest of the time, my time is mostly my own, if I’m not training or doing paperwork.” And Steve _hates_ paperwork. 

Bucky reaches out and pets Alpine absently, prickle of nervousness spiking through him at the mention of special ops, but the wariness doesn’t show on his face. “Yeah? You Army?” he asks casually as he leans his elbows on the counter once more, studying Steve from beneath his eyelashes. 

On the one hand, hearing that Steve’s special ops definitely confirms that he’s either an alpha or a beta. On the other hand, Brock is also special ops and the idea that maybe they actually know each other makes him unsettled at best. He refuses to believe that Steve would be friends with someone like that, but it’s not like he could judge him if he _was._ Not when he’d _dated_ Brock for months. 

“Got it in one,” Steve says, lips twitching into a little half-smile. “Now my orders come from a different place, but they never actually technically discharged me, so… I guess I’m on loan?” It’s a weird kind of limbo. But the Army hadn’t wanted to give up its claim on Captain America to an organization most people don’t even know exists, so limbo it is. He sometimes feels a little bit like a ragdoll that two children are fighting over.

Bucky’s pretty sure he knows what Steve means. There are any number of covert organizations in the United States that pull active service men and women from duty all the time in order to utilize their skills. Most people don’t happen to know how often it happens. Steve just doesn’t seem the type to be in that kind of operation, but it wouldn’t be the first time Bucky’s been wrong about something like that, either. 

Although, “What, I don’t seem like I could be a pilot?” Steve adds, spreading his arms a little, maybe trying to make the situation seem a little lighter because… well, it’s not anything Bucky did or said, exactly. But somehow, Steve gets the idea that something changed, when he said that -- or maybe Bucky’s putting together who he is and is about to tear into him for it. It’s not some big state secret, anyway -- Steve Rogers is Captain America, and it hasn’t been classified for a long time. Longer than Steve had been in the ice, even. But it’s still nice to not be on display, or to have people treat him like he’s ninety, or put on the kid gloves. 

So he maybe looks a little unsure, like he might have just stepped in it. 

Bucky smiles at the idea of Steve being a pilot. “You don’t strike me as the glory hound type,” he says honestly. 

Steve hums, though it’s maybe not clear whether he’s conceding the point or begging to differ. Not that he’d consider himself a thrill seeker, per se -- he does what needs to get done, and if it gets his adrenaline pumping, well, that’s part and parcel of the serum. It keeps his adrenaline high because he needs it to keep going. Helps him ignore pain and fatigue, when they do try to catch up with him. 

If he maybe likes it sometimes… well, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

“Not that all pilots are, but the handful I’ve met… well.” Bucky shrugs and Alpine bites lightly at his fingers. “They were thrill seekers. You seem pretty down to earth. Seem more like a fellow Army man to me.” He’s not sure what to make of the sudden uncertainty on his face, but he meets Steve’s eyes and gives him a faint grin. He stands up a little straighter and tugs the dog tags out from beneath his shirt to show him momentarily before tucking them back into place. 

Steve’s face lights up just a little when Bucky pulls out his dog tags -- except at the same time, there’s this weird twisting in his gut, because he knows omegas still aren’t allowed to serve, and something in him has pegged Bucky as an omega. 

Which must be wrong. Just because he thought he’d smelled omega panic doesn’t mean he did, he reasons. Or it could have been someone else on the street (which isn’t the better option, actually, so he shuts down that line of thought real quick). Maybe his brain has just wanted Bucky to be an omega because he’s so easy to get along with, because they feel compatible somehow, even just as friends. And friends is fine, Steve tells his twisting gut -- and now his brain, which is unhelpfully supplying him with pictures of Peggy. Peggy, the beautiful, amazing, alpha. Peggy, who was probably always out of reach, but who became the ultimate taboo the second he’d stepped out of the Rebirth pod. 

Bucky watches the faint surprise that flickers over Steve’s face -- yep, he’d definitely thought Bucky was an omega, he thinks -- that quickly changes to a brightening of his expression. And why wouldn’t it? It’s not like male omegas have anything to offer to the world. Just ask anyone. He shoves that bitterness aside quickly because it’s not Steve he’s angry with by any means; he’s angry with the _world_. 

And now Steve has no idea how long he’s been quiet or what his face is doing, so he schools it back into interest (not feigned at all) and asks, “How long did you serve? Or are you between tours?” He doesn’t think that even these days, the Army lets people work in bookstores in their downtime, but he has to admit, he hasn’t asked. 

“Did two tours in Afghanistan with the 107th,” Bucky tells him. “Got an honorable discharge about ten months ago. Little earlier than I planned, but.” He moves to indicate his left arm, though not a lot. “Didn’t get much choice in the matter.” Which is an understatement. He definitely wouldn’t have chosen to become a POW. Or to be one of the only men from his unit who’d made it out alive. He had no right to complain, no matter how shitty his own circumstances are. Even if there had been a multitude of times in the last few months where he’d been to the point that he’d wished he hadn’t survived, either. 

He draws in a breath and manages a small smile. “Guess we never know what life has in store for us, do we?” 

“No, we sure don’t,” Steve has to admit, on an exhale that’s almost a laugh. Isn’t that the truth. His eyes maybe do go to Bucky’s arm, with the unspoken permission to at least acknowledge it, and that makes sense -- he’d been moving it like it was stiff earlier, and now Steve has an explanation of sorts. Or, at least, an explanation that’s more than good enough for him.

Bucky’s not bothered by the quick glance at his arm that Steve gives him -- mainly because he’s invited it to happen by way of explanation, but also because at least it’s covered up and he can’t see the actual scarring. The handful of times that Brock had seen it, there’d been no disguising the disgust on his face or in his eyes and after that he’d taken to wearing long-sleeved shirts year-round, regardless of the temperatures. 

“I’m sorry. It’s never what you want, to have the choice taken away from you,” Steve says. 

“Thanks.” Bucky’s voice grows a little quieter at that, because being discharged from the Army isn’t the only choice that had been ripped right out of his grasp in recent history, and it’s definitely not what he wanted. “It’s okay. Gotta roll with the punches, right?” It’s not like there’s another option. At least not yet. Maybe one day, if he has anything to say about it, ultimately. 

“I guess that is the best option,” Steve agrees -- well, it’s what he’s always done, too, even if he does his damnedest to get back up after he rolls. But, “The 107th, that was my -- dad’s company, actually,” he can’t help but add, fumbling only a little not because it’s a lie, but because he realizes mid-sentence that he can’t say it was _his_ , because then there’s no explanation for why he and Bucky haven’t met before now. It honestly just drives another spike in him to feel like he’s willfully misdirecting Bucky on this, but chances are he’ll never see the guy again, so what can it hurt? Especially if he’s an alpha -- although, Steve’s brain now (actually) helpfully supplies, he could be a beta. Those relationships are fine, after all. 

But he’s definitely getting way, _way_ too ahead of himself -- despite the fact that this feels a lot like meeting Peggy for the first time, for all that it’s completely different. With Peggy, he’d kind of been head over heels immediately, drawn to her attitude as much as her looks. With Bucky, it’s… different, somehow, because things started out so very weird, but if he stops and takes a second to take stock of himself, he realizes it’s the same feeling. 

It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating, and he’s definitely not about to say anything right here and now. 

Bucky’s caught off guard by the fact that Steve’s dad was in the 107th, too. “ _Seriously?_ ” That’s kind of nuts to think about. He knows it’s a weirdly small world in the way that people connect with one another, and if he and Steve are both Brooklyn boys, he supposes that makes a little bit of sense, that he and Steve’s dad would have both been in the same company. 

Alpine stretches and meows before getting up and scampering off the counter and heading toward the back of the store when the front door of the shop opens, the bell above the door jingling as a couple of young women come in, giggling and whispering to one another as they look at their cell phones. 

Bucky glances at them briefly. “Welcome to Book Barnes,” he greets them with a warm smile. 

When the door opens, Steve doesn’t quite freeze, but he definitely tenses. Bucky hasn’t recognized him, which is kind of sheer dumb luck, given that Steve had left the house today without his usual baseball cap and only a scarf to tuck his nose into if he needed to. But girls with cell phones are kind of his worst enemy (you know, after Nazis) because they’re always asking for selfies and making a big deal and that is exactly what he _doesn’t_ want right now. _That_ will most definitely leave Bucky with a bad impression. 

Not that what he’s about to do is probably any better. Steve turns a little more toward Bucky, away from the door, and offers him a smile that he hopes is more sheepish than tight. “I guess I shouldn’t stand here and take up all your time. Could you ring me up for these, please, and I’ll get out of your hair?” 

Bucky’s a little surprised by the abruptness, but he reminds himself that Steve had helped him out to be nice. They’re still complete strangers, even if they’d discovered they had some things in common. So he simply nods, pushing aside his disappointment and he reaches for the stack of books, jotting down their titles and purchase dates on his clipboard and making out a handwritten receipt for him. “It’ll be thirty dollars even,” he tells him, holding the receipt out to him with a soft smile. 

Steve smiles gratefully, trying to turn on the charm (as if he ever knew how) as he pulls his wallet out and trades cash for the receipt. “Thanks,” he says, meaning it for so much more than just the transaction, wishing he could explain but realizing that it would just make things even more awkward. 

He hefts the books back into the crook of his elbow, pulls up his scarf a little, and offers Bucky a last smile that he hopes conveys how sorry he is to run out like this. Steve Rogers fucking hates running away, but this isn’t a fight, and it’s not running so much as a strategic retreat, he tells himself, to avoid making a big fuss in Bucky’s bookstore. 

He still tucks his head down a little, posture changing from tall and confident to slouching and insignificant before he slips past the giggling women and out the door with his books, feeling like he’s let Bucky down somehow, and not really knowing why. 

He ends up heading straight home -- after a bit of fumbling with his phone -- and it isn’t until later that evening, when he goes to put the receipt in the little folder he keeps of them (mostly out of habit, it isn’t like he spends beyond his means these days, when his means are absolutely ridiculous compared with what he’s used to) that he realizes Bucky didn’t charge him for the art book. 

Well, damn. He’s going to have to go back and set that right, he thinks, with something that might be a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Brock Rumlow has been pissed off since the previous afternoon when he’d spotted his boyfriend making out with fucking _Captain America._ And really, he’s got nothing against Cap in general, even if their theologies are vastly different. Overall he seems like a solid guy. Frankly if he wasn’t an alpha, Brock wouldn’t hesitate making a move on him. But it’s not right, not _natural_ for two alphas to be together. Goes against nature and biology and God himself as far as he can see it. He knows it happens from time to time, but that doesn’t make it _right._

No, the natural order is the way it should be -- always. Which is why he keeps his focus on Barnes. That and Barnes is part of his mission. Maybe he hadn’t intended to get quite as entangled with him as he’s gotten, but biology happens and instincts take over. He knows Barnes feels it, too, no matter how many times he tells Brock they’re done. Frankly, he’s certain that Barnes is just playing hard to get. He can’t help it, really. He’s an omega. They’re hardwired to be teases. Besides, they’re not done until _Brock_ says so, because he’s the _alpha_ , goddammit. It’s just a matter of making Barnes see that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. And one way or another, he’ll make sure he understands it.

His temper has simmered into a cold current of anger by the time he’s at work the next day. There’s nothing particularly interesting happening at the moment, but he spots Cap at a desk in a side office that the man regularly uses to do his paperwork. He squares his shoulders and puts on his best, most charming smile as he knocks lightly on the frame. “Hey, Cap. You ‘bout finished up?” he asks, nodding at the tablet he’s working on. 

Steve’s impression of Brock is that he’s one of those alphas who is wholly and unapologetically _alpha_ \-- the kind he didn’t appreciate, growing up, telling him he was useless and weak. Steve’s never really seen what Brock is like outside of work, past a few post-mission drinks or showers in the locker room, so he can’t say for _sure_ whether the guy treats omegas well or badly. But, based on the kinds of jokes he’s made in the past, he can maybe sort of hazard a guess. 

Steve doesn’t have to like it, but they’re teammates, and Brock is a damned good agent. Brutal and efficient, maybe, where Steve might have trouble with those things -- admittedly more the former than the latter -- but Steve’s rarely had complaints about Brock’s performance in the field, and that’s what he’s here to care about. Sure, he _can_ care about the guy’s off-the-clock performance, but he can’t do more than comment as a friend (well, more like an acquaintance or coworker, really) than a commanding officer. He shuts down the offensive jokes on the job and keeps a weather eye on the guy when civilians are involved. 

But Brock has always been civil, if a bit prickly now and then, to him; when Steve’s stuck at a desk the next day doing dreaded paperwork, he pauses and glances up just as Brock comes into view with a soft knock at the door frame. He offers his colleague a smile, nodding and blowing out a breath. “Just about. Nothing more tedious. I’d rather spend a week in a foxhole. You need something?”   
Brock chuckles at that. “You and me both, Pal. Pretty sure if I wasn’t good at what I do, they’d toss me out on my ass for my lack of decent writing skills.” He rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning. “Thought maybe we could grab lunch. Need to get outta the office for a while,” he explains, leaning against the doorframe. He studies Rogers with a friendly expression. “What do you say?”

Steve does have to chuckle at that -- well, he can’t confirm or deny that, but he definitely understands the sentiment -- as he considers the question. It’s sort of a moot point, because Steve is pretty much always hungry, and he’s also more than happy to get out from behind the desk for a bit. “Sure,” he decides, because why not? It’s a reasonable offer, and he _doesn’t_ spend much time with Brock. Sure, sometimes that’s by choice, but giving the guy a chance isn’t the wrong thing to do. 

He glances down long enough to finish filling out the section he was working on before dropping the pen on the desk and pushing back. “Got anything in mind?”

Brock simply grins. 

***

A half-hour later finds them sitting across from one another in a booth at a nearby Mexican restaurant, stuffing their faces with chips and salsa. If there is one thing Steve likes about the future, it’s the endless chips you get at places like this. Not that he tries to put anybody out of business by _actually_ eating his weight in chips, but it’s nice not to have to ration sometimes. 

Brock eyes the waitress with interest, giving her a charming smile as she refills their drinks and heads away once more. “So, how ya feeling about things with the team?” he asks, leaning back in the chair and taking a long drink of his coke. 

Steve hums thoughtfully, genuinely considering the question as he watches Brock watching the waitress. “Honestly, I’m feeling pretty good,” he admits, leaning forward where Brock leans back. “I know it’s taken some time to get comfortable with each other, but I think we’re finally getting there.” It is different, working with men and women in a setting that isn’t war -- it takes longer to get comfortable because they have the luxury of taking longer, he figures. It’s a new concept to Steve; he thinks it might be new to some of the people on the team, too. “I should be asking how you feel, right back.” 

Brock nods at that, grabbing another chip and munching on it before answering. “Pretty good. You’re a good leader. The team has a lot of respect for you,” he tells him, studying him. “I’m glad you’re starting to feel more comfortable, though. Was worried about ya for a while, Cap.” He takes another drink of his soda. “Feels like you’re starting to relax a little around us, and I think we’re all happy about that. Good for the team’s spirit.” 

Steve’s smile is modest, if still pleased -- it’s good to hear that the team accepts him as a leader, given the givens. His name and reputation obviously carry a lot of weight, but Steve’s never been someone who’s wanted to lean on name and reputation unless it was absolutely necessary (and, admittedly, sometimes it is). But not with his team, who need to know him and trust him. 

But it has been hard to let himself get to know people, here on the other side of things. It’s hard, because everything seems so different, and yet not different at all, and it’s hard to reconcile the two. It’s hard to want friends again, after knowing that nearly all of his are gone. Peggy isn’t, but she’s… not quite the same, some days, and of course it’s not her fault, but it’s still the truth. Some days she feels much more gone than others, and he doesn’t even actually get to see her very much at all, in person or otherwise. 

So yeah, maybe he’s been a little reticent to get to know his team, outside of the necessary. But he’s been trying, and it sounds like at least it’s paying off. “I guess I am starting to relax a little,” he admits. “My experiences with a team, before, were very different. This was all kinda new to me. On top of everything else.” 

But he’s still a soldier. He can still do his job. And he _wants_ to do that job. He was literally made to do it. “So you definitely don’t need to worry about me.” 

Brock hums, looking thoughtful as he snags a couple more chips and watches as the waitress brings out their lunch. Steve smiles politely at the waitress, offering a, “Thank you,” before turning to his plate.

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” Brock tells her, and she smiles, blushing a little before heading away. He turns his attention back to Steve. 

And, Steve thinks, that’s Brock all over -- the kind of alpha who feels confident enough in public to call someone _Sweetheart_ like that -- but it’s not a problem so much as just a thing that Steve definitely doesn’t do. It wasn’t polite, his ma had told him, to assume you know anything about how a person might like to be treated. If you took them out on a date -- well, if they took _you_ out on a date, as an omega, which he’d been at the time -- then you could have that discussion. 

But while it’s a difference of opinion, it isn’t outright rude, and probably less so than Steve thinks, because things have changed a lot between then and now. He’s doing his best to remember that, and it’s not like the conversation at hand isn’t highlighting that very fact. 

“Good to know. I’m sure it’s a lot different from before and I’m sure that’s taken a lot of getting used to on your part. Kudos to you for that one.” Brock picks up his fork, digging into his burrito. “Everything else going okay for you, aside from work?” His voice is casual, but curious. 

Steve picks up his fork at the same time, but he pauses, raising one eyebrow at Brock at that question. “Yeah,” he decides on, digging into his refried beans. “It’s going all right. Still catching up, which is probably gonna be true the rest of my life,” he laughs. It’s not really an answer, but it might satisfy Brock. Or it might not. It’s hard to tell. “Thought I might look at some of the community colleges. Maybe take a course or two. I never got the chance.” 

That feels like baring more than he wants to, but it’s the safest subject he can offer to Brock without inviting questions he doesn’t want to answer. He hopes. 

Brock listens closely, nodding along as Steve says he’s still catching up. He gives him a wry smile. “I’m sure it takes quite a bit of time to catch up on seventy some years of history.” It sounds far too daunting for Brock, frankly. 

“Just a little bit,” Steve agrees, all dry humor as he digs into his food. 

“Anybody still been helping you out with some of that? Helping you play catch up on major events?” Brock knows SHIELD had someone who’d been assigned to him for that purpose, right after he’d come out of the ice, but he’s pretty sure that only lasted a couple weeks before they’d tossed him into Avengers shit. 

“Hm?” Steve hums, but, “Oh, no -- that was only for a couple of weeks. I guess I seemed underwhelmed enough that SHIELD finally figured out I wasn’t gonna have a heart attack if I fell down a YouTube hole.” 

That’s the funny thing -- Steve can talk the talk, but it’s a conscious effort. One that was well worth it, though, to get SHIELD off his back. Not that the help hadn’t been all right, at first, because he _had_ been overwhelmed. Hell, he still was, sometimes. But Steve’s never liked letting his weaknesses out on display, except for a select few, and even then it’s usually with great reluctance. The entirety of SHIELD and most of the world do not fall in that category. 

So, he’s fine, and he can figure it out on his own. Eventually. 

Brock picks up his coke and sips it. “What do you do for fun, Cap? I get the interest in schooling you missed out on,” he tells him, shoveling another bite of food in his mouth. “But do you ever get a chance to let your hair down? Kick back at all?” 

That raised eyebrow is back now, because Steve’s still not sure why Brock is asking. Yeah, he could genuinely be curious, but something about this feels more like an interrogation than a friendly conversation. And he doesn’t think he’s _that_ out of practice at friendly conversation. Things went okay… ish with Bucky yesterday. 

“It depends,” he finally says, not wanting to stay silent too long. But the truth is… nothing, really. Fun hasn’t entered the equation for years, not even counting the ice. “I do a lot of kicking at the gym.” 

His smile says he knows that’s not what Brock meant, but it’s the answer he’s getting. 

Brock isn’t _stupid_ , and he knows Steve isn’t, either. Maybe he’s underestimated him a little, though, when it comes to this. His lips curve upwards in a smile and he gives a slight nod, holding a hand up as if in surrender. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to cross any boundaries, Cap. Honest. It’s just...we’ve worked together a while now and I guess I realized that I don’t know much about you outside of that.” He picks up his glass and takes a drink before leaning back in the booth again. “Rollins, Gibbs, May, Khan...know all about their spouses and kids and hell, most days of the week I could tell you what Rollins had for breakfast.” He rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. “But I won’t take offense if you’d prefer to keep things strictly professional.” 

Now it’s Steve’s turn to make a soft noise, leaning back himself for a moment. “Well, I’m not married and I don’t have kids. And I thought anyone who’d been through third grade history knew plenty about me.” 

His tone isn’t condescending so much as wry -- it’s all true, anyway. He’s this weird kind of pseudo-celebrity, and he’s met a lot of people who think they know him. He knows his team had come in with their own preconceptions and been briefed on plenty of updated information to boot, because to think otherwise would definitely be stupid. 

He shrugs one shoulder, softening a little, though there’s still something wary running under his skin. “Truth is, you probably know everything worth knowing. I don’t do well with downtime, so I don’t take a lot of it. But, if you really wanna know, I had six eggs and two bagels and three cups of coffee this morning. For first breakfast.” 

It’s as much a peace offering as a placation. He doesn’t want to alienate Brock. That would also be stupid. 

Brock laughs at that, nodding in acquiescence. Of course he knows Cap isn’t married and he doesn’t have kids. And while he hasn’t come right out and asked the question that’s burning in his mind, he feels confident enough that he knows the truth now that he doesn’t need to. “Six eggs and two bagels. Got it.” There’s amusement in his tone, and he’s relieved he doesn’t have to deal with _Captain America_ stealing his omega. It had all been for show. 

Too bad for Barnes that he’d happened to pick the one alpha on the planet he’d never have a shot with. 

\---

Steve doesn’t end up getting out of work until later than he’d meant, that evening. Honestly, he isn’t even sure how late Book Barnes is open, but it’s not like he can really wear himself out with a detour there on his way home from work. And it’s also not like he’s got anything better to do. 

He feels a little guilty as he parks his bike a block away in a lucky parking spot he’d found and walks the rest of the way -- he feels like a stalker, but he’s not being a stalker. He’s just going to pay for the book Bucky hadn’t charged him for. It’s a very convenient excuse to come back, and that’s what he keeps telling himself, as he gets to the storefront and sees it’s still open, pushing on the door and looking around for the brunette. 

Bucky’s rearranging books in the back of the store, alphabetizing by the author names in each section, when he hears the bell above the door jingle and he blinks a couple of times, glancing at his watch. _8:08 p.m._ Crap. He’d meant to lock up a couple hours ago, but he’d gotten lost in what he was doing and, apparently, also lost complete track of time. Still. It’s not like the store makes a lot in sales and he’s invested a lot of his savings in keeping this place up and running. A customer’s a customer, and besides. It’s his own fault he hadn’t closed when he was supposed to. 

“Hey, welcome to Book Barnes,” he calls out as he finished the row he’s working on and starts toward the front. The last person he’s expecting to see there is his blond knight-in-shining-armor from the previous day, but there he is. He can’t quite help the way his eyes light up at the sight of the other man, nor can he suppress the flicker of delight he feels. “ _Steve._ You’re back. Hey,” he greets. 

It’s got to be so, so selfish, but the way Bucky lights up at the sight of him -- _him_ , and not Cap -- makes something warm kindle in Steve that he isn’t sure what to do with. He smiles, almost a little breathlessly, looking happy and sheepish all at once as he says, “Hey. I’m back. I, uh, got home last night and I realized you didn’t charge me for that art book.” 

It’s true, but it suddenly feels like an excuse, here and now, and yet like Bucky won’t take it as an excuse at all (because it’s not -- why is this so hard) and some part of Steve doesn’t want Bucky to think he only came back for business, even though it’s the thing that made it so _easy_ to come back in the first place. 

There’s no mistaking the way something seems to _soften_ in Steve’s posture as he talks, and Bucky finds himself a bit mesmerized by that happy smile, because he’s the one on the receiving end of it and it feels -- warm. Like slipping into a bubble bath on a cold, dreary day. It’s a pleasant surprise after the abrupt way their conversation had ended yesterday. He’d been half afraid he’d made things awkward by bringing up his injury and army discharge. It had left him feeling guilty and unsettled, but he’d done his best to push it aside, assuming he’d probably never see the guy again. 

But there he is, standing in front of Bucky in the store. 

Bucky’s expression softens a little when Steve mentions the reason he’d come back and he offers him a smile. “Yeah, I --” He rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I didn’t charge you because I just wanted you to have the book. You helped me out yesterday, and honestly, there aren’t enough people in the world willing to do that sort of thing for a complete stranger. It was sort of a thank you.” 

“Oh,” Steve says, and then he ends up laughing -- at himself, really. “I didn’t -- I’m sorry. If you wanna see something spectacular, give me a minute and I promise I can actually get my foot in my mouth.” 

Bucky’s lips quirk upward more at the sound of Steve’s laughter and he finds himself wanting to hear more of it. 

Meanwhile, Steve’s smile has gone a little helpless -- but a little grateful, too. “You didn’t have to do that. But thank you.” Because he did, and Steve isn’t going to belittle the act by insisting that he pay for it now. “And you’re welcome, I mean, but --” He shakes his head a little. “People _should_ be willing to help each other out. I guess I just see the way I want the world to be, and I try to live like it is, you know?” 

Bucky’s chest tightens at those words, because they’re so fucking _earnest_ it’s almost painful. “I think that’s a really great way to look at things,” he says quietly. The fact that he means it is more than Bucky’s witnessed out of most alphas. 

“But I should maybe look around a little more, too,” Steve suddenly finds himself saying, feeling his cheeks threaten to go a little red and God, when is the last time he blushed? “I mean -- I’m a fast reader.” Yeah, that sounds more lame and definitely more like an excuse. 

Bucky’s smile perks up more when Steve mentions wanting to look around some more. “Yeah, of course. And I think I still owe you a hot beverage. You never did end up picking one.” 

“Sorry about that,” Steve admits, knowing he’s still being a little obtuse about it, knowing that that’s wrong, but it’s not like he’s trying to hide who he is. He just doesn’t want to actively advertise it, not right now. “I would like some of that hot chocolate. Unless that offer’s off the table, in which case coffee is fine. But it’s late -- if you’re closing soon, you don’t have to make anything fresh for me.” He doesn’t smell any coffee, at any rate, so he’s sort of assuming.

“The offer’s still on the table,” Bucky assures Steve. The coffee had gone cold a few hours ago, probably, and even if not, he wouldn’t dare to drink it at this hour. Not if he wants any shot at sleeping tonight, and he _does_ , because he needs it and because it’s something that’s already a struggle most nights. 

“And uh -- well. I should’ve closed up a couple hours ago but I guess I lost track of time in the stacks.” It’s Bucky’s turn to look sheepish. “But it’s really no trouble at all.” Because the last thing he wants is Steve to insist on leaving so he can close up. “I’ll just flip the sign over and lock the door.” He heads toward the door to do just that, glancing around looking for Alpine, who’d been hiding for a few hours now. He’s sure she’ll turn up any minute. 

Bucky flips the sign to closed and turns the lock. “Now the question is, do you want plain hot chocolate or the flavored kind? I got raspberry, mint, caramel and French vanilla.” 

“Oh -- oh, no, I just walked right in without looking at the hours, I’m sorry,” Steve ends up saying all in a rush, coming right back around to embarrassed. “Do you want help closing up? I mean, I can make sure everything’s clean and tidy.” Bucky says it’s no trouble, and Steve wants to believe him. The earnestness in his face doesn’t seem like a front he’s putting on to be polite, not when he’s already turned the lock and Steve is still _in_ here, and the rest of the world is now decidedly not. 

Steve, though, isn’t going to be dissuaded from helping if he can. “Let me do something to help if you’re going to do that for me, and I’ll take…” Frankly, he hadn’t really known flavored hot chocolate was really an option. “Raspberry?” That sounds like it would pair pretty well with chocolate -- not that any of the other options don’t. 

There’s a flutter of _something_ in Bucky’s chest when Steve settles on his favorite flavored hot chocolate. He tilts his head to the side, considering. He’d swept up earlier already. “Really I just want to make sure Alpine is still in here so if you wanted to look around for her while you look through the stacks, that’d be great.” 

Truthfully, Bucky’s almost certain she’s inside, but on occasion she’s been known to dart outside when the door’s open too long. Having Steve look for her is partially just for Steve, though -- he doesn’t want the other to leave so quickly and he’d been worried that if he _didn’t_ give him some kind of job, he might assume he’s intruding or taking up Bucky’s time and insist on leaving. 

“And great choice, by the way. I usually stick to mint if I’m not feeling well, but raspberry’s my favorite for any other time.” Bucky smiles, ducking his head a little as he heads toward the back of the store, pulling out his keys and sliding one into the lock there, opening up the door to his efficiency apartment. “I’ll be back in a few. Holler if you need anything or have any questions.” 

“Sure,” Steve’s already saying, not entirely sure how to track down a cat, but he guesses it probably means looking everywhere one could possibly hide, high or low. There are definitely a few twists and turns and corners around here, thanks to all the bookshelves, so he simply gets to it, cataloging each corner and case as he goes, looking for that telltale white fluff. He does glance in Bucky’s direction when he hears the telltale jingle of keys in a lock, and -- well, living above or adjacent to a place isn’t entirely a new idea to him. In fact, it’s a pretty old one, because most people growing up had. 

But that means Bucky doesn’t just work here, but he might actually run the place. Which, now that Steve’s thinking about it, makes a lot of sense. His grandfather must have given it to him, or at least to someone that’s comfortable with Bucky in charge. “I think my training can cover claws to the face, but I’m sure you will hear me hollering if it doesn’t,” he calls, and gets back to searching. 

Bucky laughs when Steve calls out. “She’s a sweetheart of a cat. She would never.” He’s already measuring out milk and putting it to boil on the stove. Alpine’s actually kind of shy with people in general. Wanda’s an exception, and him of course, and it hadn’t escaped him how easily she’d come off the bookshelf the day before to inspect Steve -- and proceeded to flop on his books, which isn’t something she does normally. But he’s always heard that animals can sense good people from bad people, and considering the fact she’d _never_ warmed up to Brock, he’s inclined to believe that’s true. 

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Steve laughs, making his way down the aisles of bookshelves until he pauses, cocking his head to one side, trying to figure out… what that strange, soft rumbling sound is. He frowns, following the sound down another row, until he realizes it’s the cat, curled up on top of one of the shelves and _purring_ , her tail lazily twitching as she watches him with a few slow blinks. 

“I don’t think I want to take my chances, all the same, if you’re comfortable where you are,” he says to the cat -- although of course, he tentatively reaches one hand up, giving her a chance to sniff it if she wants. (And if that’s even a thing cats do -- he’s a lot more familiar with dogs, given there were a couple of those that served as working dogs with a few of the companies the Howlies worked with in the war.) 

“Do you want whipped cream or marshmallows? I have both,” Bucky calls. 

Alpine does sniff Steve’s fingers, and then a rough little pink tongue scratches up the pads of the two nearest her nose, and Steve laughs again just as Bucky calls out again. Both his head and Alpine’s turn in the direction of the sound, and she starts to uncurl, stretching slowly, then jumps down and trots off, this time with Steve following her back toward Bucky’s voice. 

“That sounds pretty decadent,” Steve calls as he gets closer. “Just -- however you take it, I guess. Alpine seems interested, at any rate. She’s on her way over.” 

Bucky glances down and spots Alpine slipping into the apartment just as Steve warns him about the approaching cat and he grins. “You found her. Thanks,” he says, listening to the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps. He lets the milk simmer on the stove and moves to the fridge to get out the soymilk, putting just a little of it in a small bowl on the floor. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he whispers as she makes a beeline for the bowl and starts lapping it up. He rubs behind her ears softly. “Good girl.” 

He places the soymilk back in the fridge and returns to the stove, glancing toward the door. “You can come in, if you want,” he tells Steve, voice only a little louder than usual. He can’t actually see him from where he’s standing, but he can practically sense that he’s there, hovering just outside the door. “Or if you want to keep looking at books, that’s okay, too.” He stirs the milk and then starts adding in the hot chocolate package a little at a time, letting the powder dissolve as he stirs so it doesn’t clump together. 

Steve is, admittedly, hovering just outside the door; it seems rude to assume he can just go in, that he’s got permission or an invitation, but then Bucky actually issues an invitation, so Steve slips in through the half-open door, hands in his pockets and sheepish smile back on his face. “I didn’t want to just assume,” he explains -- and then, “That smells _really_ good.” 

Because Bucky’s making actual hot chocolate with actual milk on the actual stove, and it tugs at something in Steve for a second, making him feel weirdly homesick. It’s not like the technique has gone completely out of fashion, but the last time he saw anyone drink hot chocolate, it had been Natasha dumping a little packet into a mug of water she’d warmed up in the microwave, and it had just struck something dissonant in him -- or maybe that had been the weirdly sugary, watered-down powder puffing out from the packet, that had hit him with a face full of _wrong_. A lot of things did that these days -- pre-prepared, packaged things that were just a little off, and to his, well, over-sensitive senses, it can be an assault. 

“Is this your place?” he asks -- just to confirm, given that maybe Bucky just has the keys for whoever stays back here, or maybe no one lives here at all… but that doesn’t look like the case, looking around. It definitely looks like someone lives here, with all the little touches and tells. 

There’s something both startling and yet completely natural about seeing Steve step into his apartment, looking sheepish and smiling and whatever it is makes Bucky’s chest feel warm. Foolishly (and he knows it’s foolish), he can’t help but think it would be nice to end a lot more days just like this -- with making hot chocolate for Steve and maybe the two of them curling up together on his small sofa, watching movies or even just reading side-by-side. It’s a mental image that takes him a moment to let go of, because there’s no use dreaming about things like that. 

“Yeah,” he admits after a moment, stirring the hot chocolate in the pan, tiny smile on his face. “It’s cheaper than paying rent for a place separate from the store.” Bucky looks over at him again, imagining the two of them holing up in here during a cold winter night and he wonders briefly if he’s losing his mind. He’s not some starry-eyed teenager, dammit. “Plus I don’t have to get up extra early for a commute.” There’s a hint of joking in his voice now, even if that actually _is_ a perk. He’d been in the army for years and did the early morning routine, but he’d never really cared for that part of it. He likes his sleep. 

For Steve’s part, now that he knows it’s Bucky’s place… it gives him a little window into his life, one he feels strangely pleased and privileged to witness. It’s stupid -- Bucky must have friends, have family, have plenty of other people who know where he lives and what his place looks like. It’s Steve who’s strange, for _not_ having those things. But still, he likes the little look he gets; could see himself spending time here, with Bucky -- and that’s where he tries to put a stop to that thought, because if Bucky’s an alpha, they can certainly be friends. And Steve can certainly feel… how he’s feeling about him, which he can’t really pretend he’s not. But he doubts Bucky feels the same way, and he definitely doubts Bucky would be willing to throw convention to the wind, the same way Steve might. With Peggy… with Peggy, it had been different. There’d been a war on, and they’d been _soulmates_ , and… well, they’d thrown convention to the wind as quietly as possible, and it hadn’t been easy, and neither of them had liked hiding, for as much as they’d known they had to. Fucking _Captain America_ couldn’t be in a relationship with another alpha who was essentially _in his unit_. 

And it’s probably the same now, minus the working together. So Steve does his best to wipe any of those thoughts from his head, and just… take it in, and take Bucky in, and focus on him as a _friend_. Friends are great. Friends are important, and he would much rather have a friend than nothing at all. God knows he has precious few of them now… as in, possibly none. 

Of course, if Bucky had any idea what Steve was thinking about, he’d likely admit that no, he doesn’t really have family or friends anywhere around. His family knows where he is, but his parents are in Indiana, and he rarely hears from them anymore. He talks to his little sister a couple times a week, but Becca’s in California now that Bucky’s recovered enough from his injuries to be on his own and run the store without her help. Mostly, he keeps to himself these days, spends his evenings in the apartment with Alpine, curled up beneath heavy blankets because whatever had been done to him during his captivity had left him feeling cold most of the time. It’s probably a blessing in disguise -- it makes it a lot less tempting to wear things like short-sleeved shirts. 

“Sounds like a pretty good deal,” Steve says, after what was probably too long spent staring at nothing with a dumb look on his face. He rallies, coming closer to the stove, before asking, “Where do you keep your mugs?” 

Bucky feels an odd sense of awareness of Steve’s presence as he approaches almost soundlessly, glancing at him with a soft smile and motioning to the cabinet beside the microwave. “Up there,” he tells him, wondering how it is that someone with Steve’s stature and sheer size makes him feel the exact opposite of intimidated. These days he seems to be jumpy and uneasy around anyone much bigger than him, and he’s not sure if it’s just a PTSD thing or if it’s because he’s an omega now. Neither option is a great choice under the circumstances. But the point is, he _doesn’t_ feel wary or nervous around Steve despite his size and it has him questioning a whole lot about himself, even while solidifying in his mind the fact that Steve is simply one of the good guys.

Bucky turns the flame on the stove down a little, unable to keep himself from sneaking a peek at the other man as he reaches up for the mugs, the muscles in his back rippling through his t-shirt. He draws in a slow breath, licking his lips almost involuntarily, looking away just in time before Steve can catch him looking. “How was your day, anyway?” he asks suddenly, realizing he hadn’t asked before. And he knows that there’s probably not a lot that Steve can or will tell him considering he’s special ops, but he can’t stop himself from asking anyway. 

Alpine leaps up onto the counter beside him and then up to perch on his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck affectionately and making him smile as she purrs right in his ear. 

Steve laughs a little as he sets the mugs down on the counter. It’s stupid, but the question is… weirdly nice. Domestic. And so much more sincere, somehow, coming from a person that he’s only met twice than coming from a member of his own team, like Brock’s questions had been earlier. 

“Full of paperwork,” he says, sounding as put upon as he can. “Honestly, pretty boring, and don’t I feel awful for saying the world is a reasonable enough place at the moment that sitting behind a desk is all I had to do today.” 

It’s true, anyway -- he’s grateful things are quiet for the moment, because that can change at the drop of a hat. But he always feels antsy and useless when he’s relegated to administration rather than active duty. 

Bucky glances at him sideways as he sets the mugs down on the counter, wrinkling his nose at the mention of paperwork, but chuckling quietly anyway. “Hey, been there, done that. Paperwork’s never been my favorite thing either. Doesn’t mean you can’t wish for some kind of nice balance. Not necessarily death and destruction level interesting, but more interesting than filling out forms for the higher-ups.” 

He picks up the pan and moves over to the sink, carefully pouring the hot chocolate into the two mugs that Steve had pulled down. 

“Balance, yeah,” Steve echoes, but there’s something a little wry and thoughtful under his voice -- mostly the fact that he doesn’t get called in unless there’s some serious _im_ balance, so while he wishes maybe that were true, it really can’t ever be. He knows he’s not a normal soldier, and not even a “normal” special operative. But he can’t really be sorry, in the end. He would’ve settled for just serving, when the war hit. But this is what he got, how he got to serve, and he wouldn’t give it back for the world. 

Bucky hears that undercurrent in Steve’s voice, but he’s not sure what it means or what to make of it. He glances at him curiously but doesn’t ask, mostly because it seems impolite. If Steve wants to share with him, he will. He also knows he probably won’t, just from the nature of his job. It’s okay; Bucky gets it. It’s part of military life. 

“So, what had you so busy that you forgot to close up?” Steve finally asks. “And -- what time do you normally close, so I don’t just walk in after hours like that again?” Because… okay, he can’t help it. He’d really like to come back again, and he hasn’t even left yet. 

“Uh. Well. Nothing specific, really?” Bucky answers. “Sometimes I just get kinda anxious and so I was choosing to cope by alphabetizing the shelves.” Bucky laughs at himself, shaking his head. “My life isn’t really that interesting these days, admittedly.” The question about what time the store closes does catch his attention, though and he swears his heart skips a beat. Maybe even two. If he’s asking, it’s sort of an insinuation that he’s planning to come back and -- God, Bucky wants him to. 

Maybe more than he’s even ready to admit to himself. 

“Normally we close down at 5, but honestly -- you’re welcome to come after hours.” He freezes at what _that_ is possibly insinuating and his cheeks grow warm with heat. “I mean, if you want to browse privately or have hot chocolate with me. I’m usually always around.” 

Steve feels a burst of warmth in his chest that starts to leak out into his smile — and then tells himself he should crush what he’s feeling every time he looks at Bucky into a little ball and hide it away, keeping his smiles just friendly -- which is suddenly hard, when it looks like Bucky might actually be _blushing_. It’s… a really damned good look on him, the color just tingeing his cheeks. 

“Five? You must’ve been pretty -- distracted,” he says, gentling his voice when he realizes that it’s definitely rude to tease about something when Bucky had admitted to feeling anxious. Steve gets that. He does. He has days like that, when he can’t sleep because everything is too loud, too wrong, when every little sound his neighbors make through the walls reminds him of the war, when he walks into a restaurant or store and has to stick to the areas where he’s got a good sight line on the entrances and exits. He gets it. 

“Yeah, I guess I was,” Bucky admits, looking a bit sheepish. He hands Steve one of the mugs of raspberry hot chocolate and then moves to grab the bag of marshmallows, opening it and dropping a few into his own mug before offering it to Steve. “Honestly -- have you ever had one of those days where your head feels like it’s full of cotton?” 

Steve watches how many marshmallows Bucky takes, then reaches into the bag and getting the same number for himself. He blows out a breath, even as the steaming mug in his hands, which smells _amazing_ , feels like comfort and warmth washing over him. “Yeah, once or twice,” he agrees -- although really, it’s definitely been more than once or twice. He’d kind of had a lot of days like that, after first waking up. They’ve mostly faded, and he can push through the ones that haven’t, but he does know the feeling. The look he gives Bucky is as understanding as it is sympathetic, given how little he likes feeling that way, and can’t imagine anyone else does, either. 

“Well -- I’ll try to call ahead, if I’m going to…” Except that’s where Steve leaves off. He doesn’t have Bucky’s number. And he feels his heart trip in his chest, like it’s some big deal, when he asks, “I mean, if I could -- we could trade numbers?” 

It seems awfully personal… and that also seems awfully ridiculous, since he’s standing in the guy’s kitchen, with what seems to be an invitation to show up after hours again. Fuck, it’s a good thing they can only be friends. He’s so bad at flirting. 

Not that this is flirting. It isn’t. He’s making a friend. Apparently he’s really out of practice at that one, too. 

Alpine meows and jumps down onto the counter once more, giving Bucky a moment to absorb the fact that Steve’s asking for his phone number. His mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he can’t quite stop the smile that spreads across his face. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “What’s your number? I’ll send you a text and you’ll have mine then, too.” 

And just like that, all of Steve’s worry about being out of practice gets a bit wiped out by overwhelming relief when Bucky agrees to trade numbers. Steve’s pulling out his phone, too, even as he rattles off his number easily for the other, unlocking it and waiting for the promised text. “I hope that’s not her way of protesting,” he says, watching the cat with too bemused a smile for him to _really_ think that. “She looked comfortable up there.” 

Bucky plugs the number into his phone, sending Steve a smiley face via text along with _It’s Bucky._ Then he tucks his phone back into his pocket, laughing. “She likes you, don’t worry. If she didn’t, she’d be hiding and not out in the open. She’s usually pretty shy,” he tells him honestly. 

Steve can’t help but smile when he gets the text, saving the number deftly before glancing back up. “Well, I’m glad she does. It would be a little awkward if she decided she didn’t want me calling.” And okay, maybe now he’s picturing the cat hanging up Bucky’s phone for him or something, which is a little ridiculous, but he’s still glad all the same that she doesn’t seem to mind his presence. “I have heard animals can be good judges of character,” he says, teasing again, but also a little hopeful.

Bucky moves away from the sink, picking up his cup of hot chocolate and taking a sip. “You wanna come sit down?” he offers, stepping around Steve and doing his best to ignore the warmth radiating from his body as he heads into the small living room area. His heart is beating quickly again, his fingers itching to reach out and touch him, but he resists because it’s not exactly polite to go around touching people you barely know, even if you kissed them the first time you met. He doesn’t want Steve to think he’s in the habit of putting his hands _or_ his lips on people without asking permission.

Steve’s sudden burst of hope only burns brighter when Bucky asks if he wants to sit down. “Sure, yeah. Thank you.” The furniture looks well worn, but not in disrepair, and it certainly looks comfortable as Steve trails Bucky the few feet into the living room space, waiting for him to sit down so he can judge where he should sit with his own mug. “I like your place,” he says. “It’s a good design.” It seems like a silly thing to say, but it’s true -- every inch of space seems used efficiently, but nothing feels cramped or uncomfortable. “I’ve lived in plenty of places this size or smaller that didn’t feel half as roomy.” 

Bucky’s face lights up at the compliment. “Thanks. Gramps actually built this apartment himself,” he explains, sitting down on one end of the small sofa, leaving plenty of room for Steve. “It was originally just gonna be a storeroom, but he wound up using the second floor for that and just living here to save money.” He glances around, oddly pleased that Steve’s so appreciative of the place. 

“It’s a good strategy,” Steve agrees, picking the other end of the couch to sit on -- not trying to put every inch of space between them, but certainly keeping a polite, friendly distance, and trying to make it look as casual as he can. 

“Have you always lived in Brooklyn? Well, aside from any military service,” Bucky amends, leaning back against the cushions. 

That question is easy for Steve to answer, at least: “Yeah. Well -- I stayed in a place in Midtown for a couple weeks, after the Chitauri attack.” That’s something pretty much everyone remembers and isn’t likely to forget soon. “My unit was helping with the cleanup. That was my first assignment on, uh, home soil after I got back.” And if you counted the Avengers as his unit, which he guesses it kind of was, at the time. 

Bucky watches Steve as he makes himself comfortable on the couch and sips his drink, listening as he mentions the Chitauri attack and grimacing. “Yeah, can’t say I thought alien invasion was a real possibility. No matter how many sci-fi books I read growing up.” And the movies he’d watched, of course. “Missed out on all of that, though I have a feeling if it hadn’t gotten wrapped up as quickly as it did, they probably would have pulled my unit outta Afghanistan to help out. Guess the Avengers handled it pretty fast.” It’s just the cleanup and recovery efforts that had taken months and months. 

He wonders how different his life would have been if it had gone on longer and his unit had been pulled out of Afghanistan. He might not ever have been taken prisoner, would never have been experimented on like a lab rat, might never have become an omega at all. But he doesn’t dwell on it for long. There’s no point. And he’s never been the kind of guy to indulge in self-pity for long, whether as a beta or an omega. 

“We -- all, uh, did our best to clean up after,” Steve says, feeling stupid and, again, shameful and a little deceitful for not just coming out and explaining that _he’s_ an Avenger, that he was there during, not just after. But he bites the inside of his cheek and nods, because at least he can say -- and feel better about it -- that, “Yeah, me either. Aliens were not really ever an enemy I thought we’d have to worry about.” He worries it won’t be the last of it, either -- if it can happen once, it can happen again, after all. But that’s why he’s _still_ an Avenger, sticking close to the rest of the team in New York, even if he’s currently taking orders and paychecks from SHIELD. 

“Oh - yeah, of course. Sorry. I wasn’t trying to insinuate the Avengers are the only ones who did anything,” Bucky says, grimacing a little. Truthfully, he doesn’t follow much of the news regarding the Avengers, at all. He’s heard enough to know he’s glad they exist, because obviously they’re needed, but superheroes and superpowers are all very much out of his wheelhouse. It almost doesn’t feel like reality. But Steve doesn’t really seem like he’s taken offense to his off-handed commentary about the Avengers so he lets it go at the apology. 

“No -- no, I know. They kinda got all the press. Trust me. I know,” Steve says, smiling because it’s definitely true. He hadn’t loved it, but at least he’s had enough experience dealing with the press that he’d gotten through it all right, even if he’d still been feeling even more like a fish out of water, like a person who just didn’t belong. That feeling is still there, sometimes, but it’s at least mostly faded into the background, and it’s easier to ignore it even when it doesn’t if he focuses on keeping busy. 

“But after that, yeah,” Steve goes on. “I found a place that wasn’t _too_ astronomically high in rent, which is good since I guess I’m not actually there a whole lot,” he ends with a laugh. Yeah, he can definitely see the benefits of living in a place with little to no rent. 

He hadn’t paid rent in Stark Tower, admittedly, but he hadn’t felt comfortable staying there indefinitely. It was too busy in the wrong ways, and so he’d wanted to go home to Brooklyn -- even if it didn’t always feel like home anymore. Places like this, though? They did still feel like home. And so does the tiny studio apartment Steve’s got, too, even if it’s still in a far nicer building, in a far better area of Brooklyn than he grew up in. 

“So, yeah -- I grew up here. I don’t think anywhere else would ever feel like home.” Steve takes a sip of his drink and has to stop for a moment, just savoring the rich, _real_ , novel taste before he finally remembers to pick back up the thread of conversation. “You?” 

Bucky finds himself relaxing the more he listens, and he realizes how much he likes hearing Steve talk. There’s something about his voice that’s soothing, makes him feel warm and cozy, like the hot chocolate. He’s self-aware enough to recognize the budding crush he has on the other man, and his cheeks feel warm as he ducks his head. 

“Yeah, it’s always been Brooklyn for me, too. Other than when I was overseas. Got family in Indiana, but I’ve never lived there myself.” Bucky smiles, faint and soft. 

Steve hums, impressed and curious, when Bucky mentions Indiana. “When you’re a city boy, it’s hard to imagine living anywhere else. Indiana seems almost like a foreign country,” he laughs. “Have you visited them?” 

“Yeah, no. Actually.” He shakes his head, exhaling, gut twisting with sadness that he does his best every day to completely ignore. “We’re not close anymore. Typical dysfunctional family, I guess.” He tries to smile but it’s more pained than anything. “Except my sister. She’s out in California, going to school at _Stanford._ Super smart. Those genes skipped right over me,” he jokes. 

“Oh -- Buck. I’m sorry.” Steve offers a genuinely sympathetic smile, before glancing down at his mug. “I don’t have a lot of experience with families. Mine was small to start with, and I’m the only one left. But that’s great, about your sister. She must love it out there. And that sounds like a place you should definitely visit. I hear they have palm trees and everything.” His grin turns a little more hopeful. “Besides -- Army ain’t bad, right? It’s all I ever wanted to do.” 

The nickname doesn’t escape Bucky and his breath catches for just a second, his own chest growing warm with sympathy. He feels the sudden urge to wrap Steve into a hug just to reassure him he’s not alone. His gaze is soft as he looks at the other man. “Yeah, she likes it pretty well. I think she misses Brooklyn, too, though. She was actually running this place while I was in the Army. And no. It’s not bad at all,” he says honestly. There are definitely things he thinks should change about the institution as a whole, especially regarding its stance on omegas and service, but no one’s asking him for his opinion. 

“Good business sense must run in the family,” Steve says softly, and he definitely means it a compliment to Bucky as much to everyone else who’s run the place as well. It’s still here, after all, after decades, and that’s a testament to its owners as much to its service for the community. 

Bucky rests his left arm atop the couch, angling his body so he’s facing Steve better, mug of cocoa resting against his thigh as he cradles it in his right hand. “I’m glad you came by tonight,” he admits. “For the record.” 

Steve’s smile turns that little bit pleased and embarrassed at what Bucky says; he glances at his own drink again, but only briefly, not wanting to look anywhere but at Bucky. “I’m glad I did, too,” he says, with maybe just the tiniest hint of relief under his voice. It had seemed like the best idea and the worst idea, all rolled into one, but Steve’s always followed his hunches, and this one seems to have paid off. Especially after the strange, uncomfortable day he’d had. Spending time with Brock felt nothing like this; Bucky might be another alpha, but he’s genuine and heartfelt in a way that Steve isn’t sure Brock could ever be. It reminds Steve -- again -- of spending time with Peggy. Of spending time with someone for the sake of spending time together, and not for the sake of getting something out of it. 

So Steve takes a chance, because… because this feels precious, and something worth going after, and because every little step he’s taken so far has been the right one. “I’m free most nights. If I’m not on a mission. If you ever wanted help cleaning up the shop, or making signs, or lis-- watching a game or something.” 

It feels like the first genuine offer of something that Bucky not only craves, but _needs._ It’s everything that all of his time with Brock _never_ was, with his casual insults and snide condescension that had crept up shortly after they’d gotten together. Looking back now, he can pinpoint so many red flags that he’d missed in his haze of pain and recovery and all the drugs they’d given him to get him through all of it in the hospital. He could see so easily now how Brock had preyed on him when he’d been vulnerable and weak, how he’d slithered into Bucky’s life and Bucky had just _let_ him. 

Everything about Steve is different. There’s a kindness in his eyes that he’s drawn to, that he thinks he’d still would have been drawn to even as a beta. 

“I’d like that a lot,” Bucky says softly, eyes bright as he gazes at him. 

Steve looks more like Bucky had just accepted a marriage proposal than told him he could come over sometimes; there’s something in his face that lights up, that goes relieved, that’s even a little disbelieving, like it’s hard to accept that Bucky gave him the answer he wanted. Deep down, that warm feeling rekindles, and he grins stupidly, trying to hide it in his mug. “Okay,” he agrees. “I could even bring dinner next time. If you don’t mind takeout -- I’m not much of a cook.” 

That makes it sound a lot more like a date. But it doesn’t _have_ to be a date, and Bucky can interpret it however he wants. Maybe it’s overreaching his grasp, but Steve wants to tumble into this headfirst, and it’s always been a little hard to hold himself back, even when that might have been the prudent thing to do. It’s not like he has experience with taking things slowly -- not friendships, not whatever he had with Peggy, not even getting to know the Avengers. Steve’s lived his life under the clock, from just trying to survive to fighting a world war to trying to stop aliens from pouring through a hole in the sky. Taking his time is just something he’s never learned how to do. 

Bucky’s pretty sure that if his heart starts beating any faster than it already is, he’s going to have a heart attack. Steve might not have called it a _date_ , but by all conventional standards, it sure sounds like that’s what he’s offering. Between that and the way that Steve’s expression floods with what _looks_ like hope -- he can’t quite help but get his own hopes up a little. He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip absently.

He takes a slow, deep breath. No one’s ever accused him of beating around the bush, and he’s not about to start now, even if he’s a little afraid his words are about to wreck this fragile thing between them. “Just…to clarify. Are we talking about a date?” His voice is hushed. “If not, that’s fine, but for what it’s worth, if that is what you’re asking, hypothetically...I’d say yes.” 

Honestly, if anything, the way Bucky just comes out and asks, it’s like -- God, it’s just like Peggy, like how she never minced words or went for politeness when she could get straight to the point. Steve feels this crazy, huge, unbidden throb of affection come bubbling up inside him, even as he makes himself take a breath, leaning over to set his mug on the nearest flat surface, not taking his eyes off Bucky as he sits back up straight. 

“It -- is, if you want it to be,” Steve says, just as quietly, like it’s 1943 and it’s just him and Peggy in an infirmary room at the SSR, both of them alphas and knowing what both of them want, either way. “It’s what I want it to be,” he adds, because he’s not second-guessing himself on this, and he’s not doing it just because Bucky might want to. He wants this. He can’t explain how or why, but he’s wanted it for the majority of the past two days, which is exactly how long he’s known the man sitting here with him. 

Bucky tracks Steve’s movement with his eyes, watching intently, hyper-aware of his presence as he sets his mug down, as he seems to shift just a little closer on the couch. And when Steve admits he _wants_ it to be a date -- his cheeks grow warm all over again, smile spreading across his face. “I want it to be, too,” he agrees without hesitation, relief washing over him. “I know we just met yesterday, but I feel --” He searches for the words to try and describe it. “Like we have a connection. Like I’ve known you a lot longer. Which I realize sounds like a really cheesy movie line, but...it’s also true.” 

“It’s not -- I mean, I feel that way, too,” Steve says, quickly, his whole posture going a little more relaxed, a little more relieved. “It doesn’t sound cheesy to me at all.” 

It sounds -- it feels -- like the only other relationship Steve has had. Which means that it’s right, he figures, because hadn’t his ma always said that when he’d know, he’d know? Well -- he knows. Just like he knows it’s probably a bad idea to go talking about said previous relationship, but it at least gives him some comfort, knowing Bucky feels the same way. 

“I know it might not be -- I’m an alpha,” he says then, all in a rush, because of course he’s never outright said, and of course Bucky’d never outright asked. But suddenly, if that’s going to be a problem, if Bucky hadn’t guessed… then he needs to go into this with that knowledge. 

As soon as Steve admits he’s an alpha, it occurs to Bucky that now Steve’s probably thinking _he_ is, too, simply because he owns the bookstore. “I’m not. An alpha,” he says, a stab of guilt going through him at the lie he utters next. “I’m a beta. But -- even if I was an alpha...I don’t think I’d care that much,” Bucky tells him honestly. And it can be dangerous to say such a thing, but there’s _nothing_ about Steve that screams danger to him, even if he’s not ready to admit to him that he’s an omega.

Bucky says he wouldn’t even care if they were both alphas, and that crazy warm, bubbly feeling is back. “I don’t think I would, either,” tumbles out of Steve’s mouth, knowing that’s a little bit of a lie, if only because he _knows_ he wouldn’t mind. But it’s hypothetical, now, because Bucky’s a beta, even if something about that knowledge doesn’t soothe Steve the way maybe it should. But that’s stupid, and unimportant, because what’s important is the guy sitting across the couch from him, and Steve suddenly feels like he can’t stop smiling, even though it might split his face. “Then it’s definitely, _definitely_ a date, even if I should warn you that I haven’t… uh, had a lot of experience?” 

He laughs, rubbing his neck for a second. “I mean -- I’m not -- I have had. Dates. It’s just been a while. That’s what I’m trying to say. But it’s probably like riding a bike, right?” 

There’s something that’s kind of incredible about watching Steve relax, watching his eyes light up, and his smile is so damned _bright_ , Bucky feels like he’s looking directly into the sun without going blind. And in a flash, he can see so many good things ahead, all of them revolving around the beautiful man sitting beside him on the couch, and he wants that _desperately._   
And when Steve immediately agrees that he didn’t think he’d care if they were both alphas, everything inside of Bucky feels warm and reassured because there aren’t too many that would openly agree with the idea of two alphas being together, especially not to someone they’d just met. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky assures him, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out and resting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve only been in a couple relationships myself. Military life makes things pretty complicated,” he points out with a soft smile. 

“But yeah. Like riding a bike,” Bucky agrees with a grin. And honestly, he’s never considered himself to be a high maintenance kind of person. He tends to go with the flow of things. “We’ll be fine.” 

“There’s probably a really, really bad raunchy joke in there somewhere,” Steve says, but the laughter is as nervous as it is hopeful. He feels warm, where Bucky’s hand is resting on his shoulder, even through his t-shirt. And besides, he does get it. “It does,” he agrees. “Make things complicated, yeah. But sometimes complicated is worth it.” 

Even so… somehow, this seems so _un_ complicated -- except for the fact that Steve’s still withholding information. But it’s just not that important, right? It’s just his job. It’s just where he’s from. It doesn’t matter right here and now, when he suddenly feels like he could fly, with Bucky touching him and looking at him like that. He… actually can’t remember the last time someone touched him like that, just to touch him. It might’ve been 1945, but that would be ridiculous. 

Bucky laughs, too, because he can’t honestly say his mind hasn’t gone in that same direction, however momentarily. It’s hard to look at Steve and _not_ think about those possibilities. He’s not sure how anyone with eyes can do any differently. He knows that as easy as this feels, it’s complicated in other ways and not just because Steve is special ops. He has a very persistent ex-boyfriend with stalker tendencies, and he’s already uttered his first lie by telling Steve he’s a beta. 

As much as every instinct he has screams at him that he can trust this man completely, he can’t risk the chance of being reported for owning a business when he’s really just an omega. It’s a stupid law, but he also knows he doesn’t have the kind of power it takes to overturn it by himself. He’ll tell him, when he can convince himself that there’s _no_ chance it’ll be used against him.

“I might still get called away for missions,” Steve says, even as he’s maybe scooting a little closer, trying to both make it more comfortable for Bucky to touch him, and maybe to get their knees touching, to start reaching out right back. But he’s an alpha -- _the_ alpha in this relationship -- and he doesn’t want to assert dominance without knowing for a fact that Bucky’s inviting what he’s got to give. So he holds off, just for a few seconds more, starts small, because while he’s not really a “starts small” kind of guy, he still wants to do his best. “But otherwise… I’m here as often as you want me.” 

That’s… maybe not starting small, in the non-touching department, at least. 

Steve’s closer and their knees are touching, light, but still _touching_ and Bucky wants to get even closer. His nerves are practically screaming for the contact and so he, too, shifts closer to Steve so they’re pressed together a little more firmly. 

This isn’t like Brock informing him he’d be over every night, it’s Steve making the offer to be around if Bucky _wants_ him to be around. “Then it sounds like you’re going to be spending a lot of time here, Steve,” he murmurs. 

When Bucky moves closer, it’s like something lights up inside Steve as their thighs touch, their hips. He lets out a breath like he’s finally gotten relief from an ache he’s had for so long that it’s become a part of him, and he can’t help it -- he reaches out, resting a hand on Bucky’s knee, trying to increase the contact a little more without touching somewhere he shouldn’t. His eyes flutter as his smile just keeps on going like he won’t remember how to stop. 

“That’d be nice, actually,” he says, fixing his gaze on Bucky again. “I mean, it sounds nice, having someone to eat dinner with.” And a lot of other things besides, but he offered dinner first, so that’s what it’s going to be. “Should I bring something for Alpine, too?” He guesses the more time he’s likely to spend here, the more he ought to endear himself to the cat. 

Because maybe if he can just wait a little longer, get to know Bucky a little better, let Bucky get to know _him_ a little better, then explaining about his job and his past and the whole mess of it might go over better. Because it’s never worked well the other way around, and he desperately wants this to work. 

It’s not bare skin contact, but Bucky can feel the heat from Steve’s hand against his jean-clad knee and it settles something in his bones that’s been itching beneath his skin since yesterday. He casually leans over and sets his mug on the coffee table beside Steve’s before shifting back into place beside him once more and moving to cover Steve’s hand with his own. 

Steve’s admittedly more than a little distracted when Bucky reaches out to cover his fingers, the touch feeling calm and cool and soothing and both like a perfect counterbalance to the heat inside him and like it only makes the way he wants to pull Bucky closer even stronger. 

But Bucky doesn’t even get a chance to respond to the offer to bring something for his cat before Alpine jumps up onto the arm of the sofa to see why her name has been mentioned. He laughs quietly, something dangerously like _joy_ flickering through him. “I think she likes that idea.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, the spell a little broken, but not in a bad way. Without thinking, he twists the hand on Bucky’s leg, turning it so that it goes palm up, fingers threading through Bucky’s and squeezing carefully, gently, even as he turns toward the cat, reaching out with his other hand, carefully, hoping she might let him touch her, too. “I’ll take that as a yes. You can let me know your order before I leave,” he says, feeling stupid and silly and like a teenager again except actually, not at all. Because when he was a teenager, he was a sickly, unpopular omega, who couldn’t bear being touched because it would have been out of pity or out of malice. He hadn’t wanted any of it, not after so many people had taken one look at him and thought they knew exactly how little he was worth, and none of them had mattered at all. 

Now, being here with Bucky matters, and maybe if Steve had been a healthy teenager, this is what he would have felt? Giddy and overeager and at war with himself -- but it doesn’t matter what it could have been like. This is how it is now, and it’s a feeling he wants to grab onto and hold with both hands. 

Bucky looks down at their joined hands marveling a little at how they fit together just right, and he can’t help but think there’s something symbolic about that. He curls his fingers around Steve’s, drawing in a slow breath when Steve squeezes gently. He watches as Alpine sniffs at Steve’s hand and then leans into him a little, ducking her head to accept any offers of petting he might have to give. 

And he knows there’s a big, stupid smile stretched across his face, and he remembers this giddy feeling from when he’d been in eleventh grade and Michael Sanchez had been the love of his life. That had been a million years ago, and he feels like an entirely different person from the boy he’d been then. 

Steve loves the look on Bucky’s face -- he loves everything about it, and he wants to see it as often as he can get it there. “I think I’m really glad you got distracted today… and I hope it’s gotten at least a little better, since then.” 

He’s not even fishing, really. He genuinely hopes Bucky’s feeling better now, and not putting on a front. And if there’s anything he can do to help, he wants to know. 

“It has,” Bucky says honestly, not sure why he’d felt so distracted and muddle-headed all day, but that sensation is gone now entirely. He feels more grounded, more centered than he’s felt in years. “It really has.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve feels more stupid than anything, sitting in the back of the quinjet in his singed uniform, helmet and shield rattling a bit on the empty seat on one side of him while Natasha and the medical kit take up the seat on the other. He’s leaning his head back, eyes closed, listening to the quiet chatter of the team in the aftermath of a mission that didn’t quite go bad, but definitely could have gone better. It was supposed to be simple, just a few days to get in and out, get the information they needed and neutralize any threats. But instead, Steve had gotten distracted -- hell, he’s been distracted for days, ever since they had to leave New York for this mission and he’d had to cancel his dinner date with Bucky. 

Which is why he feels stupid. Because it’s stupid to let that distract him, but it’s been on his mind and even when it’s not, even when he’s tried to focus, he hasn’t been feeling razor-sharp. So now Steve’s nursing a wrist that is either badly sprained or lightly broken, and Natasha’s deft fingers are working to wrap it up and splint it, and he doesn’t quite want to look her in the face while the team grumbles quietly, even if most of those grumbles are grateful that Steve’s is the worst injury they sustained. 

Natasha, for her part, completely ignores the rest of the team, her red hair tied back in a loose ponytail to keep the hair out of her face while she works, her eyes focused on wrapping Steve’s wrist. “You’ll need to get this looked at by a professional when we land,” she informs him, well aware that he’s not looking at her. She’s missing something here, but she’s not sure what it is. Not yet, anyway. 

“Yeah, sure,” Steve says -- in that way that means he’s going to see how it feels by the time they get back, and probably ignore that advice and just carry on until it heals. Most things do, honestly. He flexes his fingers a little, making a bit of a face because it’s _not_ exactly comfortable, but he can do it, so even if something’s broken, it’s probably just hairline. That means it’ll heal just fine on its own, without the need for anyone to properly set it. 

Mostly he just wants to get back and actually make things up to Bucky, because he’d felt like an ass, having to call him the very next morning and explain he was going to be gone for a week, and couldn’t say why or where. 

Natasha gave him a knowing look, fully aware that he’s not going to seek actual medical attention unless it’s a much more dire circumstance than a wrist fracture. “How’s it feel?” 

“It’s all right,” Steve says, and then, “Thanks. Better than trying to wrap it up one-handed.” His crooked smile says he may have had to do that once or twice, in his life. And then, to deflect: “You sure you’re all right?” 

Natasha’s known Steve long enough by now that she knows exactly how he operates down to a science. Except those odd times when she doesn’t. She studies him, eyes intent. 

“You’ve been a million miles away all week. Anything you need to talk about?” She keeps her voice quiet so the others don’t overhear, though she’s sure at least a few of them noticed, too. Rumlow, for certain, who always seems to pay particular attention to Steve when the two of them are in the same general vicinity. If she hadn’t known he was dating someone, she’d be wondering if he was _interested_ in their captain. 

Steve makes a different face now -- the kind he always makes when Natasha hits the nail on the head. He _has_ been a million miles away, but, “Nah. It’s just -- nothing I can put my finger on, you know?” Which, honestly, is almost more disturbing than if he could. If he knew why he was distracted, he could deal with it. And yes, some of it has been anticipation over how Bucky is going to take the guy he _just_ agreed to date having to duck out on the very first one, even if it had just been plans for Steve to bring over takeout. 

But somehow, it feels deeper than that. Deeper, and harder to pinpoint. Just… distraction, muddle-headedness, and he’d blame it on something like lack of sleep or working too hard, but neither of those are actually problems for him. “I won’t let it affect things again,” he says -- again, just a bluff when he doesn’t even know what it is, but it’s the best he can do. Maybe he does just need to clear his head for a bit. This mission had felt weird from the start. Their unit isn’t usually called in for information gathering, unless it’s something absolutely time sensitive. “At least I’m the only poor bastard who got hurt because of it,” he says, finally opening his eyes with a wry, self-deprecating grin. 

If anything, those words make Natasha feel more concerned, and it shows in her green eyes. “You know I’m asking as a friend and not as a teammate, right?” She’s well-aware of how guarded Steve tends to be with people, even with her after all this time, but she’d like to think they’ve grown closer over the last couple years. There’s still a lot they don’t know about one another, and she knows there will always be things they can’t or won’t say, and that’s just a fact. There are things she’d never ask of him, and vice versa, and it’s probably why they get along as well as they do. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, as long as you know you _can_ if you want.” She leans back to give him a bit more space, resting her hands on her knees. 

Steve sighs, but there’s something in him that relaxes a little bit, despite everything. They _are_ friends -- Natasha is the only person on this team he would consider a friend -- but that doesn’t make it any easier to explain something that he can’t. “I know,” he says, tilting his head now to look at her sideways. “But I’m really not sure what it is. And the only thing it could be is… stupid,” he points out, maybe even more quietly than before. 

Natasha isn’t really a person he thinks he should ask for relationship advice. He can think of a hundred reasons it just wouldn’t be a good idea, but she is sitting here, concerned, asking as a friend. “Just got someone on my mind, I guess,” he temporizes. “It’s new. It won’t be next time.” That’s the best he can offer. 

It’s difficult not to let the shock she feels reflect on her face, but a smile does tug at her mouth that she allows. “ _Well._ I guess I can stop trying to find you a date now. Seems you’ve already found your own.” And if the person was on his mind to the point that Steve’s being distracted in the field -- that sounds a lot more serious than just a date, anyway. Interesting. Admittedly she didn’t know how he spent the majority of his time outside of work, but she hadn’t assumed it was anything to do with romance either. 

Natasha gives him a genuine smile and rests a hand on his arm momentarily. “Good for you.” 

“Kinda found me,” Steve says, and now his smile is softer, definitely fond, as he cradles his bandaged wrist in his lap. “Two days before we left. So -- I kind of left things hanging.” Which does explain the way he’s been distracted, feeling like things are in limbo, left undone, when that’s not a thing Steve is wont to do. “I thought I’d have a little more time to get used to the idea before I had to leave for a days-long mission, but I guess that sure was silly.” 

He smiles again at Natasha. “And no, you don’t get to meet him until I’m sure it won’t send him packing.” He couches it in teasing but… well, that is another complication, honestly. Bucky doesn’t know he’s Cap. So Bucky doesn’t know that Steve’s friends are, well, the Avengers. 

Natasha gives him a mock pout when he tells her she can’t meet the guy who’s caught his attention. At least not yet. But the way he worded it sounds like he’s hoping it’s not just a date or two, but something more long-term, and -- well. Good for him. He may act like he doesn’t need anyone sometimes, but she knows that’s bullshit. 

“Besides, this way, it’s _not_ your fault I nearly messed this up. Even if I still feel like we’re missing something, here.” Steve’s voice is low, too -- Natasha doesn’t have super hearing, but she’s canny and she’s close and the rest of the team isn’t paying them much attention, anyway. “Things seem that way to you?” Maybe he’s just got a bad feeling. Natasha’s instinct, he trusts. 

Natasha grows serious the moment Steve changes gears, turning his focus back to their now-completed mission. She casts a glance at the rest of the team, all of whom seem to be wrapped up in their own quietly held conversations, or in Rollins’ case, passed out and snoring. She turns her attention back to Steve, expression grim. “I got a look at some of the info as it downloaded. Apparently HYDRA’s latest venture is experimenting on people to try and force a biological change in _designations._ ” 

_That_ gets Steve’s attention, and his expression goes just as grim and serious. “What?” he hisses quietly, feeling something twist in his stomach at the idea. It hits particularly close to home, he knows, given his own… transition. But he’d gone into it willingly, knowing that the serum would not only give him the chance to serve in the military, but give him the authority he’d needed to do it. As far as the world knows, Captain America has always been an alpha, and obviously Steve Rogers, whom the world knows significantly less about, has, too. 

But forcing it on people, or even giving them the choice… something about it doesn’t sit well with Steve. He knows he did it, and out of desperation, but there’s a part of him that feels, even now, that he’s something unnatural. Which, granted, he is. When Schmidt had told him they were no longer human -- part of Steve had felt it was true, in some senses. No human could change who they were. And Steve had let that exact thing be done to him. 

Which is another reason, honestly, for concern. Because if HYDRA is looking into that, it’s likely related to research about the serum. And that is just as dangerous. “There are about fifty ways I can name off the top of my head that could go wrong,” Steve says. “Now I’m gonna be worried if we aren’t back out here on active duty in a couple of days.” 

Which is its own set of problems, really. “I don’t like this at all.” 

Natasha quietly hums her agreement with his assessment of the situation. “I didn’t see enough of the research to know if they’ve had any successful trials, but hopefully not. Can you imagine a world where HYDRA can change people’s designations at will?” A little shudder passes through her. “And I can’t imagine whatever ways they’re attempting this are _pleasant._ ” 

“Yeah, and I’d rather not.” No, a world where HYDRA controlled not only what people did and thought, but their _designations_... that is a world Steve never wants to come to pass. And in fact, Steve’s body feels like it’s ramping up all over again, ready to get up and fight whoever he needs to, to make sure it can’t happen. Because, “No. No, I can’t imagine it’s pleasant.” 

Getting the serum hadn’t been, even if it had been worth the price he’d paid. But for an unwilling party to go though that -- and he can’t pretend HYDRA’s methods are probably even worse, more painful -- is unthinkable. Unacceptable. 

Natasha doesn’t know HYDRA and their methods nearly as well as Steve does, but she knows more than enough to know that they’re not necessarily asking for volunteers. It’s hard telling how they’re picking people for this fucked up science experiment. She presses her lips together, looking troubled. “With any luck there’s something in the data that gives locations where this is taking place and we can shut them down.” 

She doubts they’ll be that lucky. Another thing she knows about this organization is that it rarely ever stores all the necessary info in one location. But she can still hope. 

But Steve, too, knows that HYDRA is good at keeping things buried deep. “Stay on this,” he says, eyes searching Natasha’s. “Please. I trust you. Even if SHIELD doesn’t make it a priority,” which they damn well should, and Steve will argue for it, “I want you to keep an eye on it.” Because Steve will put a stop to this with or without SHIELD’s permission. Because he can’t let that be a world he lives in, no matter the cost. 

It’s not a world that Natasha wants to be a part of, either. She knows as well as Steve does the kind of actual _evil_ that exists in the world already, and that their worries aren’t even limited only to threats on earth and _from_ earth, but from up above, galaxies away. But this is more than enough to have her worried and focused on HYDRA, too. 

She holds his gaze, something in her eyes softening at his words. _I trust you._ They’re simple, but they’re words she’s not used to hearing from many people. She can count on one hand the number of people who’ve said that to her in her entire life and it means more than he probably realizes. “I will. You have my word,” she tells him just as quietly, squeezing his arm. “We’ll figure out where they’re operating, and we’ll stop them.” One way or another. 

\--

Steve’s distracted all through the rest of the return flight, but now for a different reason. He’s too busy running scenarios in his head, seeing all the ways that what HYDRA’s doing -- or, he hopes, only just starting to plan how to do -- can go wrong. Can hurt people. He knows the way things are now isn’t fair. He’s known that his whole life, from the moment he first presented as omega and was told he was useless, worse than that, because he couldn’t even carry a child. But the way to fix that is to change the rules, to change how people see each other. Not to change _people_. 

He broods over it until they land; then he’s got something else on his mind, as they file out for debriefing and the showers. It’s awkward, showering without getting his bandages wet, but he’s done it before and he waits until the team is done and filing out before taking his own shower in the empty locker room. That’s nothing unusual, really -- most of them have things to get back to, and he usually doesn’t. Today, he does -- he hopes -- but he can’t act any stranger than he already has been. So he waits his turn for the showers, and then sits down in the empty locker room in a towel and pulls his phone out of his locker left-handed, and awkwardly types out to Bucky: 

_I’m back, could I take that rain check tonight, or are you busy?_

Bucky’s lying in bed in his loft, staring blankly up at the ceiling. It’s Sunday night again, and he thinks about how just under a week ago, he and Steve had hot chocolate downstairs, holding hands and talking until nearly two in the morning when they both finally realized how late it was. All week he’s felt off-kilter, more so than usual, to the point that Wanda has asked him repeatedly if he’s okay. And he is. Really. 

He has no idea why he’s been so anxious when there’s been a blissful week of radio silence from Brock for a change -- maybe he really _had_ gotten the message this time, and wouldn’t that be nice? But there’s also been mostly radio silence from Steve, who’d been called out on some kind of secret ops mission. And he gets it; duty calls. But he hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that he’s, at any given moment, a few seconds away from climbing out of his own skin. His chest feels tight constantly, and he finds himself taking a lot of slow, deep breaths but the pressure never eases. 

He’s probably just worried about Steve, not knowing where he is or if he’s okay, and as blissful as the silence has been from Brock, there’s part of him that’s on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. At least when he’s texting or calling or harassing him, he has an idea of what’s going on in his head, but the silence just leaves him wondering. Alpine has spent an inordinate amount of time curled up with him, whether he’s lounging on the sofa after he closes the store down at night, or curled up on his chest when he’s in bed...not sleeping. Because sleep isn’t something he’s had a lot of in the past few days. He can’t seem to shut off his mind. 

It’s only 5 PM when his phone suddenly alerts him to a text and he grabs it quickly, holding his breath when he sees Steve’s name on the screen. He exhales in a rush of air, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments before quickly typing back a response: 

_Not busy at all. Come on over._

Some ball of tight, nervous energy relaxes in Steve’s chest when the message from Bucky pops up on his phone, with barely any time to wait at all. He lets out an exhale that’s almost a quiet laugh, slumping and feeling his face stretch into a grin. _Sure. Just going to pick up the dinner I promised,_ he replies, before tossing the phone down onto the bench and rifling through his locker for clean clothes. It doesn’t take long to get dressed, even with the need to watch his hand, and then Steve is heading for his bike, already planning out his route so he can stop at the Thai place he likes on the way to the bookstore. They’re good, and fast -- and that means he can stop and scarf down at least one normal human’s worth of food before he ever walks in Bucky’s door, because he’s _starving_ and he doesn’t want to eat like a bottomless pit on his first date. 

As soon as Bucky gets the message about Steve stopping to grab dinner, he texts back a smiley face and scrambles out of bed. He takes a shower, scrubbing his hair with shampoo and conditioner, heart beating hard and fast the entire time. And he stands in front of his wardrobe for nearly ten minutes, towel wrapped around his waist as he debates what to wear. They’re not going out, so he’s not going to dress up, but he still wants to look nice. He settles on a red henley that’s just a little tighter than it needs to be, tugging it on over his head before yanking on a pair of black skinny jeans. 

He’s not dressed _up_ , but he does know to help accentuate his better features. 

Steve’s small “detour” to devour at least some of his meal early means it’s maybe ten minutes later than he would have liked, but not more than an hour before he knocks on the door to Book Barnes, good hand full of bags with takeout containers and bandaged hand tucked into his pocket. 

Bucky’s hair is still a damp mop on his head when he hears the knocking from the outside door to the shop, and he realizes he’d neglected to show Steve the back door that led directly to his apartment. _Dumbass_ , he thinks, shaking his head and raking his right hand through his hair as he makes his way out of the apartment and into the shop, flipping on the lights and moving toward the door, chest still feeling too tight as he unlocks it and steps aside so Steve can come in. 

Steve sees the lights go on in the store and grins -- right before he realizes he’d forgotten to comb out his hair after his shower and now it probably looks ridiculous and windswept from the ride over. Well, he can’t do anything about it now, especially not as Bucky pulls the door open and Steve feels suddenly breathless, like he’s just stepped off a ledge he didn’t quite know was there. 

“Welcome back,” Bucky says, with a grin that doesn’t give away any of the anxiety he’s been struggling with. He hopes the dark circles beneath his eyes don’t give too much away. 

“Hi,” Steve says, taking in the way Bucky looks, the way the colors and the fit of what he’s wearing look good on him. He’s glad he leaves clean clothes in his locker, even if it’s just dark jeans and a t-shirt. He feels a little half-naked, but t-shirts are acceptable outer layers these days and he’s working on getting used to it. Still, it makes him feel a little underdressed, so he hefts the bags in his left hand and says, “Is Thai okay? I got a little of everything, so if you don’t like spicy, it’s okay.” 

“Thai’s _great._ ” There’s genuine enthusiasm in Bucky’s voice. He’s not that picky when it comes to food; years in the army taught him to make do with whatever’s available even if it doesn’t taste great. And he’s so hungry right now that he’s pretty sure he’d eat an MRE if that’s what Steve had brought. It occurs to him distantly that he can’t actually remember the last time he ate. Yesterday, maybe? 

But more than food, what he realizes he _really_ wants is to wrap his arms around Steve in a hug, and he wonders if that would be too weird. “Spicy’s good too.” He reaches out to help take some of the bags from Steve, because he’s definitely brought a lot of food. 

“Oh, good.” There’s definite relief in Steve’s voice, and he lets Bucky take some -- but not all -- of the bags, eyes lingering on his face for a moment too long, half wanting to kiss him hello, half feeling like that’s not the right response. He knows they’ve technically already kissed, but that was different, even if he finds himself minding less and less every time he thinks about it. But still, he keeps himself in check, just grinning at Bucky instead. “I might’ve gotten a little carried away,” he says, but the truth is… there won’t be any leftovers, regardless of how much Bucky eats. 

For a split second, Bucky’s certain Steve’s going to kiss him, but he doesn’t and he’s not sure if he’s disappointed or pleased at the fact that he’s not pressing for that right away. It’s probably a little of both. “Hey, always better to have more than enough than be hungry, right?” He returns the smile easily, locking the door with deft fingers and then guiding him back to the apartment. 

“Sorry for the delay,” Steve adds, as they both duck into the shop so Bucky can lock the door again and lead the way back to his apartment. “I feel like my life is one big mess of lousy timing, sometimes. Except for when it’s not.” Like that day on the street, when Bucky had looked for help and he’d found Steve. That had seemed like pretty damn good timing, in retrospect. 

“Hey, no. No apologies necessary,” Bucky says sincerely as they step inside. He waits for Steve to come in, then closes and locks that door, too. Better safe than sorry, and frankly he’s felt safer knowing there are two locked doors between him and the outside world these days. 

“Work happens and things come up. Believe me, I get it.” He sets the bags he’s carrying down on his coffee table, cheeks feeling warm at the vague reference to the day they’d met. 

Steve follows suit, setting the bags down with Bucky’s. “Things been okay here?” 

Bucky turns to face Steve, trying his best not to stare at how good he looks in a simple t-shirt and jeans. “Things have been okay. A little slow, but that’s pretty normal.” And probably for the best considering how out of it he’s been. 

He can’t help but glance down at the hand Steve’s still got in his jeans pocket, eyes curious though he doesn’t ask. “What do you want to drink with dinner? I’ve got all the usuals -- water, beer, milk, and tea.” He’d had a container of orange juice but he’d thrown it out a couple days ago because it was way past expiration and smelled terrible. Not that orange juice would have gone good with Thai, anyway. 

Steve pauses, considering the offer. “A -- beer, if you don’t mind,” he says, because he can’t get drunk, of course, but the taste is still somehow familiar and comforting after a rough day. “And a water.” Just in case Bucky’s thinking he wants to get drunk, which he doesn’t. 

“Of course,” Bucky says easily. He doesn’t drink much himself, but once in a while it’s nice to have a beer or two, and it sounds like Steve’s probably had a long week.

“Let me help -- I can get plates. They gave me chopsticks.” Steve’s already moving toward the kitchen, given that it isn’t more than a few feet away, but he still waits for directions before just digging through Bucky’s cabinets. 

Bucky can’t help but smile, warm and pleased at the offer of help, even if it’s just to grab plates. Brock always expected to be _served._ Even right at the beginning of their relationship -- another red flag he’d missed, or ignored or just been too shaken to think about. “They’re in the cabinet beside the mugs,” he tells Steve.

Steve still can’t take his eyes off Bucky, feeling like this room, right here, is full of more oxygen than the whole world had been, the past week. Something about it niggles at the back of his mind, but he figures it’s just the old memory of how asthma used to feel. Because he’d definitely spent the whole last week feeling like he couldn’t take a deep breath, and now, suddenly, it’s gone. He feels relaxed and clear-headed and maybe that’s why he ends up saying, “Gosh, I wish you could’ve come with me.” 

Except that’s ridiculous, and he tries to backtrack without it sounding too weird: “I mean -- not really, but… it’s good to see you. I guess maybe I was a little distracted all week, thinking about having to run off on you like that.” 

Bucky’s just reached into the fridge to grab the beer when Steve says he wishes Bucky had been with him and he finds himself holding his breath momentarily, turning slowly to look at him. He’s never had the best poker face, and he’s sure that Steve can read the vulnerability that’s there as he gazes at him. “It’s good to see you, too, Steve.” His voice doesn’t waver, but it’s maybe thicker with emotion that he wants it to be. He’s already so, so damned attached to this man, and it should _scare_ him, but it doesn’t. Not really. 

He takes a hesitant step closer. “Feel free to say no, but -- can I hug you?”

Steve blinks, looking a little blindsided, but in truth, it’s only because he hadn’t thought of that, and the second Bucky asks, it’s like every atom in his body wants to touch him and hold him. It almost takes him by surprise, and maybe it sounds a little that way, as he laughs and says, “Yeah -- yeah, of course you can. I’d really like to hug you, too.” 

It’s not hard, then, to lift his arms and step closer, invite Bucky in close so Steve can wrap his arms around him, secure but not stifling, a little awkward with the bandaged right but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care. 

Relief floods Bucky at the easy agreement and he doesn’t hesitate to step into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and shivering involuntarily as the other’s arms wind around him, wrapping him up tightly but not so tight he can’t pull away -- and he’s sure that’s intentional on Steve’s part. His own arms tighten around Steve a little, feeling the warmth of his body, strong and solid against his own. And Steve smells _good_ , like he’s just showered recently and it’s all he can do not to bury his face in his throat. 

There’s something about the solidity of Bucky stepping up against him, into Steve’s arms, the scent of his damp hair and his skin and clothes that feels like coming _home_ in the same way walking into the bookstore or this apartment had, in a way that doesn’t make sense but that Steve can’t really fight, and doesn’t really want to, either. 

“I was gonna ask if I could kiss you -- later,” Steve says, maybe a little awkwardly. “But this is actually nicer.” There’s something about holding someone, about being held, that feels so much better. That feels like something he didn’t know he missed, until he had it again. 

They’re almost the same height, even if Steve’s got a few inches on him. And Bucky feels safe, for the first time since he was old enough to understand that the world _isn’t_ , inherently, a safe place. He hums his agreement at the words, and his heart jumps a little at the idea of Steve kissing him again, this time because he _wants_ to and not because Bucky needs help. But right now, he kind of just wants to stay like this, relish the feeling of being _held_ like he’s someone that matters. And he wants Steve to know that’s reciprocal, so he rubs a hand lightly over his back, the rest of his anxiety bleeding out of him. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “This is really nice.” 

It’s as strange as it is nice, to feel Bucky’s hand running over his back, to realize that Bucky doesn’t want to just _be_ held, but he wants to hold Steve, too. It’s _amazing_ , really, feeling like it energizes him as much as it relaxes him, and Steve hums agreement and maybe does, unintentionally, press his nose against the side of Bucky’s head for a minute, leaning into him a little, like they’re two sides of an arch, offering and taking support in equal measure. 

It feels strange, but right. And God -- Steve laughs then, because, “It might be better we never even got around to this date before I had to leave. I would’ve been even _more_ distracted all week if I had this to think about.” Which is, really, his way of saying how good this feels, and how much he’s getting for it -- and how grateful he is. He suddenly wonders if he’s been missing out, if this is what everyone feels, when they start something new. He… isn’t sure, though. This feels too deep, too special, even if maybe he’s just got nothing else to compare it to. 

Bucky laughs quietly, too, because he’s not wrong. “You’re not the only one,” he admits. “Kinda feel like the whole week’s been a blur.” And there’s no mistaking it for him; he’s never felt like this before, even at the start of a new relationship. This is something different and as much as he’s loathe to admit it, he can’t help but think there’s something biological at play. Except he hadn’t felt like this with Brock, at all. Not that Brock ever wanted to hug him. And Bucky definitely hadn’t felt comfortable asking for that kind of affection from the other man. 

Eventually, though Steve says -- teasing -- “Although I can’t set the table like this.” But that isn’t really him saying he wants to pull away, just… a reminder that they maybe shouldn’t stay here like this all night. Right? He feels like it could get addictive, and that’s as frightening as it is exhilarating. 

“Right. Food. Don’t want that getting cold.” Cold Thai food isn’t nearly as good as hot Thai food, so Bucky squeezes Steve once more, ignoring the ache in his left arm and reluctantly pulls away. They can always hug again later, after they’ve eaten. Hopefully. He’s smiling when he pulls back to look at Steve, his eyes brighter than they had been. “You look great, by the way.” Bucky can’t help but wink at him as he moves to pick up the beers off the counter before heading toward the living room, Alpine darting around his feet and beating him to the couch. 

Even knowing it’s coming, it’s a little jarring when Bucky pulls away, but not in a bad way. He’s still here, still close, and they’re going to spend the evening together, and that’s all Steve needs. He _is_ caught off guard when Bucky winks at him, though -- he glances down, as though to check that he’s not still in his dirty, singed uniform, or that he hasn’t miraculously been changed into proper slacks and a button-down, either. He laughs a little, glancing back up at Bucky, feeling both silly and totally justified at the same time when he says, “Not as great as you.” 

Steve gathers the plates and brings them over to the couch in the crook of his arm, some part of him warm and glad that they’re going to sit like this, side by side, to eat. Of course, before they start loading up plates, he roots through the bags until he comes up with a little container marked “A”, and opens it to set it on the table, a little ways away from the other containers. “That’s for you -- some plain chicken, still hot,” he tells Alpine. 

Bucky watches with something akin to adoration on his face as Steve pulls out a container of chicken and sets it out for Alpine. The cat meows and jumps up onto the table, recognizing the invitation as though she actually understood Steve. It wouldn’t surprise him too much if she had. She’s a smart cat. 

After that, Steve goes about starting to pull the rest of the containers out of the bags, opening them up one by one so Bucky can see what he got -- truly, a little bit of everything, with rice, noodles, chicken, tofu, vegetables, spring rolls, and more -- and holds out one plate. “You first.” 

Truthfully, Bucky looks a little pale, like maybe he hasn’t been eating or sleeping well for a few days. Steve kind of knows the feeling, even if it doesn’t show on him. But it does mean he wants Bucky to tuck in first; after all, Steve’s had part of his dinner early. 

Bucky turns his attention to the amazing spread of food Steve had ordered. “This must have cost a small fortune.” He doesn’t eat out all that much for that very reason, and some days he finds himself living off of cereal and ramen noodles if he doesn’t feel like cooking something more. “Everything looks incredible. Thank you,” he says sincerely, glancing at Steve and chewing his lower lip as Steve tells him to fill his plate first. It’s not something he’s accustomed to by any means, but he doesn’t hesitate, taking the plate from Steve and filling it half full of vegetables and then a couple spring rolls and adding some chicken and rice to fill the rest of it. 

His stomach makes an embarrassing growling noise and he laughs at himself even as his cheeks turn pink. The smells from the food were incredible, rich and spicy, filling the apartment with the scent and a soft, contented sigh escapes him. It’s been ages since he had Thai food. 

Steve just shrugs a little -- he’s got little else to spend money on, and he’d wanted to treat Bucky, besides. Just because this isn’t a dinner out doesn’t mean he was about to skimp on a thing. “I promised you dinner,” he says, “but you’re welcome. Thanks for having me over.” Because, after all, Bucky could have changed his mind, and Steve knows it. He had proven, before they even got the chance to have a first date, that sometimes he has to disappear without much warning. 

But now he’s back, and everything feels so, so much better. He waits until Bucky’s filled his plate before piling a little bit of everything on his own, then going for chopsticks and realizing… he’s going to have to use them left-handed. And while he’s virtually ambidextrous in most things, he has genuinely never tried to use chopsticks with his left. This… might get interesting. 

But it doesn’t mean he’s going to admit defeat; he balances his plate carefully on his lap and does his best to arrange the chopsticks in his left hand and pick up a piece of meat. It works… albeit awkwardly, and he ends up glancing at Bucky with a sheepish grin. “I promise, I don’t always eat like a toddler with no motor control.” 

Bucky’s attention shifts to look at Steve’s right hand, only now realizing that it’s _bandaged._ His eyes go wide and he sets his plate down. “What happened? Are you _okay?_ ” He wants to reach out, unbandage it and see what kind of damage has been done, but he controls himself that much. 

“It’s fine,” Steve says, ducking his head at the tone of Bucky’s voice. “It’s fine, probably just sprained. It’ll be better in a couple of days.” If not sooner, depending; and he can’t fault Bucky for not noticing, considering Steve had been doing his damnedest to downplay it since he walked in. “It was just -- it was stupid, really. My own fault. Shit happens, you know?” 

Bucky can’t help but wince at the mention that it might be sprained. He knows how painful sprains can be. On top of that, he feels guilty that he hadn’t noticed until just now, even though he reminds himself that Steve had that hand in his jeans pocket, hidden away. He should have known something wasn’t quite right. He searches Steve’s face, looking for any signs that he’s in pain, but if he is, he’s good at hiding it. “Do you need Advil or anything? For pain?” he offers.

When Bucky asks if he needs anything for pain, something in Steve’s chest throbs, hard, at the offer. “No, it’s okay,” he says, throat suddenly a little tight. The truth is, it’s not comfortable, but nothing Bucky has -- hell, nothing anyone has that isn’t fit to tranquilize an elephant -- will have any effect on it. Steve’s good at handling pain, and this might hurt, but it isn’t nearly as bad as most other injuries he’s had. “But thanks. For offering. I mean it.” 

He doesn’t know why that gets him like the best kind of gut punch, but… maybe it’s just that Bucky doesn’t care if Steve looks like he’s in pain or not. He offers, all the same, as soon as he realizes he might be. “Sorry, it’s not a big deal,” he says quickly, feeling embarrassed for whatever overreaction he’s having. “I just don’t want to drop anything all over your floor, that’s all.” 

Without really thinking about it, Bucky rests his left hand on Steve’s back for a moment as if somehow touching him will help. “Okay,” he says, looking worried and uncertain. “If you want a fork, I have those, too. Might be easier if you’re right hand dominant?” 

Alpine has lifted her head from where she’s scarfed down most of her meal already and meows quietly before leaping onto the couch to sit down beside Steve. 

“And if you change your mind on the painkillers, that’s no problem. I got an assortment.” Most of the heavy stuff was left over from his time at the hospital, and technically sharing it would be illegal, but it’s not like he’s not broken a dozen or so laws in the last month alone, even if no one has any idea. “Oh!” He says suddenly. “Or I could make you an ice pack. Might help with any swelling.” 

“It’ll be fine. I promise,” Steve says, voice soft and warm because he doesn’t want Bucky to worry, but it’s clear he’s going to. The touch to his back feels grounding, warm, and Steve grins over at Bucky, unable to help himself, as the other goes on, and he probably shouldn’t laugh, but he does, because it’s so… crazy. It’s so crazy, to have someone like this, who cares so much and only just met him a week ago. Less than that, if you don’t count the time Steve was away. 

Bucky ducks his head a little when Steve laughs, and realizes he’s probably going overboard considering the short amount of time they’ve known each other. It’s just that he’s been on the other side of enough injuries related to his service that it makes him uneasy to think about how fragile people are, and he especially doesn’t want _Steve_ to be in pain.

Although, “I’ll take you up on the fork -- and maybe the ice pack, but _after_ we eat,” Steve says, shifting to set the plate aside and then just -- he doesn’t know what happened, he didn’t even think about it, but he’s leaning in then, touching his lips to Bucky, in this chaste, grateful kiss before he even knows what he’s doing. 

Bucky’s just starting to smile when Steve tells him he can fix him an ice pack _after_ dinner. And then he glances up just as Steve leans in and presses a soft, barely-there kiss against his mouth that catches him off guard momentarily, but he can feel the dopey grin on his face in response, and he’s already looking forward to more of that later. He hopes, anyway. 

Steve looks sheepish when he pulls back, because he didn’t ask, and he moves to get himself up off the couch so he can go get the fork. “Please eat something first. I can find a fork myself, I promise.” 

But that grin of Bucky’s goes a long way to smoothing over Steve’s sudden nerves; it doesn’t seem like Bucky was offended, which is definitely a relief, given that Steve kind of… did that on instinct. And while he does a lot of things on instinct, he’s always done his best to be deliberate -- and polite, and respectful -- when it comes to other people and what they want. The only time he wasn’t… well, it had been a little hard to keep away from Peggy, too. He knows he’s lucky she felt the same way, and made it abundantly clear. 

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, nodding and watching as Steve heads toward the kitchen area. He picks up his own set of chopsticks and takes a bite of chicken, groaning at the flavor. So much better than ramen noodles, he thinks, closing his eyes momentarily. He draws in a breath and opens them again in time to see Steve returning with a fork. “You’re now almost entirely familiar with the layout of my kitchen,” Bucky teases.

“Should I be prepared for a test later?” Steve asks, sitting back down with a grin that’s as amused as it is relieved, pulling his plate back over and definitely holding the fork a little more confidently. “I mean, I guess if you’d like me to help wash and put them away, it helps if I know where they go.” 

Because he’s also not sticking Bucky with all the mess at the end of the night. His ma definitely taught him better than that. 

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, there’s a pop quiz after dinner. Hope you remember where the mugs are,” he jokes. He watches Steve sit back down and they eat together in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the food. 

“That one,” Steve says, chucking a thumb back over his shoulder -- toward the cupboard he’d gotten the mugs out of, the first time Bucky had let him back here. He grins, then goes back to his food. He does his best not to eat like a ravenous, starving thing, and leave enough so that Bucky can have seconds if he wants before going in to pile his own plate with more. “So, Thai was a good idea. What else should I keep in rotation?” 

Thai had _definitely_ been a good idea. A great one, even. “Honestly, I’m not that picky. After MRE’s, everything else tastes incredible.” Bucky grins, glancing at him sideways and going for a second helping of spring rolls, because they’re his favorite by far. 

Steve makes a definite noise of agreement when Bucky points out that MREs can really turn anybody into a less picky eater. “I guess that’s true, but if I only went for _better than MREs_ , that’s a low bar to meet,” he teases, shifting to tap the side of Bucky’s foot playfully with his own. 

“But you don’t have to bring food every time you come over. I could cook something, sometime,” Bucky offers, glancing at him as he takes a bite of the spring roll. He chews and swallows. “I’m not half bad in the kitchen.” He’s just loathe to cook for himself. It’s easier to just heat something up when it’s just him. “Oh, and -- I wanna show you something.” He sets his plate down and rises to his feet, moving toward the opposite wall from where the kitchen is. He glances over his shoulder at Steve as he rests his right hand on the large bookcase there. 

“I wouldn’t turn that down, either,” Steve’s saying, picturing the scene and something about the domesticity of it making his heart squeeze even as Bucky’s getting up to show him --

Bucky tugs on the bookcase gently and it swings open, revealing a door. “Goes to the back alley,” he explains. It was something he’d never revealed to Brock, something that felt too private, and he wonders for a moment how bad off that relationship had been when they’d been together for months and he’s only known Steve for a few days total. 

“Oh. _Oh_ , well, that’s handy,” Steve says, as the bookcase swings in, and doesn’t that just remind him -- 

Of a lot of houses they’d found in Europe, with secret rooms and tunnels and panels meant to keep people safe from the Nazis. 

A moment later, he blinks a few times, realizing he’s been staring at nothing, remembering a time that’s long, long gone but only feels like a few years ago to him now, if that, and he shakes his head and takes a steadying breath, fixing a smile back on his face. “Is that the door you want me to use? I guess it makes more sense than coming through a closed bookshop,” he has to admit. 

The thing is, Bucky’s a fairly observant person, which is why he’d been so good at being a sniper during his military days. He gazes at Steve, watches as he zones out for a moment, looking like he’s a million miles away, and concern threads through him once more. “You can use whichever you want,” he says honestly. “But -- you kinda looked like you were somewhere else for a minute. Like it reminded you of something or triggered you somehow?” He carefully swings the bookcase closed once more after making sure that the locks are still in place. “You all right?” 

Steve makes a face, feeling a little like he’s been caught out, and certainly embarrassed. That word -- triggered -- is something people in the future use a lot. It’s something he’s heard a lot at SHIELD, during the brief time they tried to mandate that he “see someone,” only it didn’t go over well because he knows he’s been through a lot, but he’s _fine_ and he can handle himself. Life is just full of weird shit, and you deal with it and get on with it, because if you don’t… he’s seen guys with shell shock. With what they call PTSD, these days. He’s not like that. He just… sometimes, it’s hard to live in a time when nobody really gets your point of reference, that’s all. 

They’re both military guys, but that aside, Bucky realizes he doesn’t know too much about Steve’s time in the service, and he doesn’t know what he might have been through. He’s not sure what a secret door might have triggered in him, but he knows enough about PTSD to recognize that expression when Steve got lost. He moves back over to sit down beside him, reaching out and resting a hand on his knee. 

Steve squirms a little when Bucky sits down again, but he doesn’t push him away or even try to pull away. He just frowns a little, shaking his head and finally answering the question. “It just reminded me of something,” he says -- maybe the tiniest bit insistent, because that just… it sounds better than “triggered.” “It’s not bad,” he says, still insistent, offering up that smile again. “It’s not. I’m fine.” He can’t very well say it reminds him of the war. And besides -- if he let every little thing that reminds him of the war get in the way of his life, he’d never live it. 

He leans in close, putting his hand carefully over Bucky’s. “It’s ingenious. Your grandpa had a real thing for books, huh?” It’s definitely changing the subject, and he knows it. But it’s the only defense he’s got. 

Bucky’s not a big fan of the word “triggered,” himself but his therapist uses it regularly and apparently once you go for so many sessions, you start adopting the lingo. But Steve’s insistence that it’s nothing like that makes the words, _”thy doth protest too much”_ float through his mind. He doesn’t press the issue, because whatever it is that Steve remembers is obviously something he doesn’t want to talk about. People are entitled to their secrets. God knows Bucky has enough of his own to worry about without dragging other people’s skeletons out of their closets. 

“Okay,” he says simply, voice quiet as he searches Steve’s face, and then lets it go. Lets him change the subject. “Yeah, he really did.” 

Steve doesn’t _say_ thank you… but it’s written all over his face, anyway, in his expression, the way Bucky doesn’t press past that, just accepts his explanation and goes on. Whether Bucky _really_ thinks he’s fine is another matter, but he doesn’t push like most people would, and it means the world. The few people that have always meant the world to him are the ones that let him have his dignity when he says he can carry what he needs to. 

Bucky laughs and glances over at the bookshelf once more. “And, aside from you and Becca -- that’s my sister -- and my parents -- no one really knows about it.” Bucky feels like it’s important that he admit that, that he lay it out there that he already has a level of trust in Steve that he never had with his ex. And he knows Steve’s smart enough to pick up on that without him having to say the words. He turns his hand over so that their hands are pressing together. 

Steve doesn’t need Bucky to explicitly say what he means, showing Steve the back door. “Okay,” he echoes, softly, his lips curved up in a way that says, _I understand_ even as his fingers thread through Bucky’s so their palms can press just that little bit closer. “If anyone’s around when I stop by, I’ll use the shop door.” Because Steve knows that secret entrances only do you so much good when they’re kept a secret. And he can certainly keep Bucky’s secret, if he’s being trusted with it now. 

“It’s always good to have another way out,” he murmurs, knowing that this time, when he admits to the need to want to know all his exits, Bucky will probably get it, too. 

Bucky gives him a grateful smile at the promise of his discretion, warmth blooming in his chest, because yes. He absolutely gets it. It’s something that not a lot of the population understands, and he’s sort of glad about that. He doesn’t want the general populous having to worry about the best ways to escape quickly. That’s why he’d enlisted in the military to begin with. He bets it factored in for Steve, too. 

Wordlessly, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek and letting his lips linger for a moment, then resting his head against the other’s temple for a few seconds before drawing back. “How about that ice pack?” he asks, realizing they’ve pretty much finished most of the food now. 

It had definitely factored in for Steve, if a little differently. But he’d seen the Axis marching across Europe, looming over the horizon, and he had been willing to do whatever it took to keep them from tearing freedom and life and love away from one person more. Right now… whatever it took doesn’t seem as bad, either, as Bucky leans in, pressing lips to his cheek and oh, God, it’s the sweetest, softest feeling in the world. 

Steve’s fingers squeeze Bucky’s again, and he turns his head to glance over as Bucky suggests the ice pack. His hand certainly isn’t any worse; in fact, it’s starting to itch a little, in that way that tells him it probably was broken and is busily knitting itself back together. He has to laugh, softly, feeling a little dazed as he nods, saying, “Yeah. I mean -- yeah. That would be really nice, if you promise to come right back?” 

Sitting here on the couch with Bucky, pressed up together, seems like far better medicine than an ice pack, or anything else. Steve feels almost sleepy -- not just worn out but too wired to sleep -- in a long time, and while he definitely doesn’t want to just pass out on Bucky’s couch because it would be extremely rude… sitting here together in the warmth and quiet sounds like a little piece of heaven. 

“Cross my heart,” Bucky answers solemnly before breaking into a grin that feels like his face might split in half. He reluctantly lets go of Steve’s hand before rising to his feet, grabbing a couple of the empty containers to the trash on the way. He sets about fixing up an ice pack, made of a Ziplock bag and several ice cubes, wrapping a towel around it because ice on skin doesn’t feel _good_ , either. 

He returns to the sofa as promised, carefully sitting down on Steve’s right side this time and gently placing the pack over it. “There we go,” he murmurs, grabbing their beers in one hand and breaking them open, holding Steve’s out to him and taking a sip of his own. 

There’s something about the way that Bucky brings over the ice pack, settling in next to him and handing over a beer that feels comfortable, friendly, caring rather than coddling. Steve can’t put his finger on it, but it feels good, and not like Bucky’s trying to do things because Steve can’t, but because he genuinely wants to do them for Steve. 

And that makes it easier to accept the help, to accept the towel-wrapped ice with a soft, “Thanks, Buck,” and get it settled against his injury. 

“You up for a movie?” Bucky suggests, glancing at the small flat screen on the wall. “I have Netflix, but I don’t really spend a lot of time watching it, so there’s a lot I haven’t seen.” 

At that, Steve grins a little and says, “Well, anything you haven’t seen, I can almost promise I haven’t seen. So, sure. I like movies. Whatever you’re in the mood for, I’m not picky.” 

He just wants to… be here. He doesn’t want to think about going home to a dark, empty apartment just yet, and Steve’s never been big on putting off the inevitable, but he’s also never been one to pass up the present when it’s _good_. And right now is good, as he settles his right side carefully against Bucky’s left, because, “Don’t let me squish your arm if it’s not comfortable.” He doesn’t know how much that arm does or doesn’t hurt Bucky, and it’s up to Bucky what he wants to tell Steve, but he does want Bucky to tell him if he’s not being cognizant of an injury. 

Bucky picks up the TV remote, watching as Alpine finishes off her chicken dinner and then drapes herself over their laps, her head resting on Bucky’s thigh. With Steve settled in beside him, it feels like all the anxiousness from the week has faded into oblivion, feels like this could truly be the start of something incredible. “It’s okay,” he tells him. “It’s numb a lot. Limited range of motion. Not a lot of pain anymore usually. I’m comfy.” 

He gives Steve a soft smile and turns on the TV and the Netflix app until he finds something that looks decent and he reaches up to pet Alpine behind the ears before slouching down and propping his feet up on the coffee table, nudging Steve with his foot gently to indicate the same. And a few minutes into the movie, he finds himself bold enough to rest his head against Steve’s shoulder, feeling warm and cozy in a way that’s almost foreign to him. Alpine purrs a few times before she closes her eyes and falls asleep, apparently agreeing with his unspoken sentiment.


	4. Chapter 4

The week flies by much faster than the previous, with Steve spending most of the evenings and even the nights at Bucky’s. They haven’t _done_ anything, really, aside from some kissing and cuddling, which frankly, has been nice. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t want to have sex with Steve -- he definitely does. But he’ll be the first to admit he jumped into that far too fast with Brock, and maybe if he hadn’t, things wouldn’t have gone as sideways as they had. He doesn’t regret that they’d gone badly, overall, because it’s what led him to _Steve_ , but he also doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice. 

Especially not with Steve. 

Bucky’s been in a perpetually good mood, almost like he’s floating on Cloud Nine, and his interactions with people are even more upbeat and positive than usual as he writes out receipts for his customers, Alpine perched on the bookcase above his head, as though keeping watch. He glances at the clock that afternoon, realizing he needs to lock up and head out if he’s going to make his 1 o’clock appointment with his therapist and not be late. He puts a note on the door that they’ll be closed for a little longer than normal for lunch, and closes it behind him, locking it up and heading down the sidewalk. He makes it less than half a block when he finds himself face to face with Brock Rumlow, who’s heading in the direction of the store. 

Because of course. He presses his lips together and decides to just ignore him entirely, planning to walk right past without a word. 

Brock is not a guy who likes being ignored. Especially not by someone who should know better. So Bucky might _think_ he’s going to walk on past, but what happens is Brock steps up into Bucky’s path at the last second, bumping his shoulder and shooting an arm out to lean against the building on his right, completely blocking Bucky’s path and forcing him to stop. 

Bucky’s chest tightens at the man’s close proximity. Brock’s never been one for respecting boundaries of any kind and apparently the last couple months haven’t changed that any. He wishes he was surprised, but he’s not. Still, he takes a slight step backwards just to put a bit more distance between them, consciously aware of the people milling around on the sidewalk, going about their day and not paying either of them any attention. 

There’s something about the way that Bucky takes a step back that has Brock’s smile widening just a little, making him look that much worse. And when Bucky tries to move around him, he absolutely doesn’t let him, instead stepping right up into his space, toe to toe, practically radiating alpha authority. He didn’t say James could go. So, James can’t go. 

“Hey, James,” Brock says, low and quiet and not unlike a sneer. “Just the man I wanted to see. Today’s your lucky day.” He holds up two tickets to the Stark Fundraiser Gala tonight in midtown, the red and gold foil flashing in the sunlight, just as he flashes his own grin that’s just barely this side of predatory. “You’re comin’ with me to the Gala tonight. Hottest ticket in town.” 

“Not interested,” Bucky says flatly. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to have to politely decline.” The back of his neck suddenly throbs, even if it’s just in his head, a dull reminder of their last night together, the night Bucky had broken up with him. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding another date.” He starts to move around him. 

“That’s too bad,” Brock says, eyes locked on Bucky’s, not wavering an inch. “Because sometimes you’ve just gotta do things you don’t like. And this is one of ‘em.” Sure, Brock could find another date, easy. There are plenty of omegas and hell, even betas, who’d kill for a chance to be seen with someone like him. A soldier, a competent alpha, someone who’s in charge and _knows_ it, just like an alpha should be. 

But he hasn’t told the team what happened with James, because it doesn’t even really count. Hell, he’s not actually _into_ the guy, except that sure, he’s good in the sack, even if he doesn’t know how to submit properly like an omega yet. Brock idly wonders what Cap thinks of that, or if he’s managed to cow the brunette into behaving like he should. _That’s_ an interesting little fantasy he might revisit later, but right now, it’s not about wanting Bucky. It’s about his mission to keep tabs on HYDRA’s first successful designation-change experiment, and it’s about the fact that the team is also expecting him to bring James to the gala tonight. So, he’s bringing James. 

The urge to flee is strong, but Bucky also doesn’t want to keep running for the rest of his life. And he shouldn’t _have_ to. He forces himself to take a deep breath, to keep his gaze locked on Brock’s without wavering even if part of him wants to drop his gaze instinctively. Screw _that_. He lifts his chin, jaw tightening when Brock informs him this is something he had to do whether he wanted to or not. 

“I don’t know what part of we’re _over_ you still don’t understand, but I’m done, Brock.” His voice is quiet but firm. 

Brock’s eyebrow rises, like he’s not buying what Bucky is selling. “Oh, we’re not done. Otherwise I might have to do something _I_ don’t like. Like reporting the fact that Book Barnes is owned and operated by an omega to the proper authorities. I’d hate to see what they’d do, with no one else in the family around to hand it over to. And I’d hate to see your family have to come pick up their omega son, when they didn’t even know they had one.” 

It feels like the ground drops out from beneath Bucky, face draining of color. He’d known that Brock was aware of his designation change -- he’d been pretty in and out of it at the hospital for awhile in D.C. He just hadn’t really thought Brock would use it against him for something as petty as _blackmail._

“Wow,” he mutters. “You’re an even lower life form than I thought.” His right hand is clenched into a fist, but his left dangles at his side, currently refusing to do much even as he wills it to do the same. God _dammit._ He won’t dignify the comment about his family. Let Brock believe he has that extra piece of leverage over him when he doesn’t. His dad had been so stunned and ashamed by the news that he’d split _town_ with his mom and hightailed it back to Indiana, putting as much distance between himself and Bucky as he could. 

He wants to punch Brock right in his smug face, but he can’t. “You expect me to believe you’re not going to just find another excuse to use this against me after today?” 

The omega’s all riled up, and Brock has to admit, it’s an adorable look on him. He’d been a competent sniper, before he’d been captured, but now, with that arm and that designation… well. There’s not much soldier-like about him that Brock can see, and that means he doesn’t take shit from should-be submissive omegas like _this_. 

Brock’s foot comes between Bucky’s, kicking at one instep a bit to get him off balance as Brock looms even closer. 

Bucky barely resists the urge to snarl at him, and before he has a chance to contemplate his next move, Brock kicks him, throws him off balance just enough that he involuntarily grabs onto his shoulder to keep from falling over. 

“Well, that’s the beauty of not being able to tell the future. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. It doesn’t matter.” Brock grins, like he just said something hilarious. “What matters is that it’s funny you think you’re really over me, and it’s funny that you think you can really say no to me. I’ll blackmail you if I have to, but it’s only temporary, honey, until you realize you just need to say yes to your alpha, because that’s how it _works_.” 

And that’s how it needs to work, if HYDRA’s designation-change formula is going to be implemented successfully on a larger scale. Of course, there will always be willing volunteers. But it’s teaching the unwilling how to accept their new lot in life that’s Brock’s job here, in addition to monitoring Bucky for any additional changes, thanks to the serum he received. 

Brock glances the omega over, and easily spots the left arm dangling uselessly at his side. He clucks his tongue softly, “I see you’re having a bad day.” 

“Fuck you,” Bucky hisses, hatred flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you to begin with.” Brock calling him _honey_ sends a wave of nausea washing over him and he yanks his hand away once more, reaching up and snatching one of the tickets from his hand. 

“You’re _not_ my alpha. You’ll _never_ be my alpha.” His words drip with disgust, and he knows he’s walking a fine line pushing the other man like this, but he wants it to really register that the _only_ reason he’s agreeing to this is the blackmail. 

Brock’s eyes watch as Bucky takes the ticket, his smile widening as he laughs softly, lowly. “Is that what you think?” he asks. “Do you think _he’s_ your alpha? Do you bend over for him instead? Because there’s plenty about you I could tell him, too, if you want to play hard to get.” 

Brock has what he wants, though, and it’s enough for now. “I’ll pick you up at six,” he says. “Wear something nice.” 

Bucky feels his insides grow cold, like Brock had dumped ice into his veins with the vague reference to Steve. “Eat shit and die,” he mutters before shoving the ticket into his jeans pocket and maneuvering around Brock, head spinning at how quickly his life had just been turned upside once more -- and not in a good way. 

He makes it a block and a half before he ducks into an alley and throws up all over the ground, eyes blurry with tears. 

***

Steve, for his part, doesn’t realize anything is wrong. Not exactly. Sure, it’s odd for Bucky to message him and call off their mostly standing dinner-and-a-movie thing, but it’s not like Steve owns him or his time, and it’s not like Steve hasn’t had other commitments, either. If something came up, then something came up, and after being told Bucky didn’t need help, Steve had simply accepted it. 

But there’s this weird, twisting feeling in his stomach all day, like he was nervous, like he’d had too much caffeine, except caffeine doesn’t affect him and he’s got nothing to be nervous about. At least, not until Pepper Potts calls him a few hours later and asks him to attend the Stark Fundraising Gala after one of their big names dropped out. Steve can’t exactly say no -- he doesn’t have anything else to do and it’s for a good cause, and it’s not like Natasha could really do it in his stead. He does maybe wish Bucky were free, so he could ask him to come with, but attending solo isn’t really any different than he would have done, a couple of weeks ago. 

Except that _everything_ feels different than a couple of weeks ago. He’s been spending most of his free time with Bucky, sleeping over most nights a week, but it’s just that -- sleeping, together, and he doesn’t think he’s ever slept so well in his life. He’d been worried his propensity toward insomnia might keep Bucky awake, but instead, that first night, he’d passed out on Bucky’s couch after the mission (to be fair, healing took a lot out of him) and just about every night since, had fallen asleep and stayed asleep. It was quickly becoming a routine he liked, and tonight was one of the first nights in a while that things were going to go different. 

But different was okay, he figured -- except for the part where it meant pulling out the revamped red, white, and blue getup SHIELD had given him for the Battle of New York, which was _way_ more form-fitting than he liked. It was for charity, yes, and Pepper had said he didn’t need to wear the cowl, so it could probably be worse. Maybe it _wasn’t_ the worst luck that Bucky hadn’t been able to make it. 

So, Steve has been spending most of the night trapped in one corner of the room, talking up senators and business owners and real estate moguls and anyone he could into donating to one of the several the charities they were sponsoring. It isn’t hard, but repeating the same pitch does get old, and he has to admit, his attention starts wandering after a while. 

Bucky hasn’t uttered more than two words to Brock the entire way to the gala, and he doesn’t plan to. His stomach has been in knots all day, and while he considered telling his therapist what was going on, when it came right down to it, he doesn’t trust her enough to reveal anything about his being threatened and blackmailed by his ex. She’s too connected to the military, and he’s considered changing therapists on more than one occasion, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet. 

The venue is every bit as crowded as he’d anticipated it was going to be, and he’d been greeted cheerfully by a handful of Brock’s friends. Forcing himself to smile and shake hands and play nice is the last thing he felt like doing, but with Brock’s warning hanging over his head, he does what he has to do. His skin is crawling under the navy blue suit he’s wearing and he reaches up to tug at his tie, feeling too warm for once. The fact that Brock’s had his arm around him all evening isn’t helping with that. 

Bucky politely refuses a waiter when they’re offered hors’ d'oeuvres because if he eats anything, it’s going to come right back up anyway. He’d give just about anything to be out of there, curled up on his couch with Steve under a couple blankets as they eat popcorn and watch some lame movie he won’t be able to recount the plot of later because he’s too busy soaking in the warmth of Steve’s attention. 

He just has to get through tonight, and then come up with some kind of a plan to keep from losing the shop if Brock decides to turn him in or try to use it against him as leverage once more. 

Brock’s evening is going much better than Bucky’s. The omega _is_ a good-looking catch, the fact that he’s a mission notwithstanding, and he behaves himself as he should, cowed properly by the knowledge that Brock is not going to take any shit from him. STRIKE mostly keep to the shadows and the corners of the room, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t still there as guests, pulling double duty as security, which also means canvassing the other guests to make sure nothing seems out of place. 

And nothing does, until his earpiece crackles and Rollins reports, “Cap’s here. Over by the bar,” and Brock turns to spot the famous red, white, and blue blond right where Rollins clocked him. Something in him seethes for a moment, when he thinks about the day he saw Bucky fling his arms around Cap’s neck in an effort to throw Brock off his trail… and then he turns that seething anger into an _excellent_ idea. 

He tugs at Bucky’s hand, pulling him toward the crowd standing around Cap at the bar. “Hey, honey, there’s someone we’ve just _got_ to say hello to.” And prove that Brock knows exactly what’s going on with Bucky, and how easily he can ruin him. 

The last thing Bucky wants to do is meet anymore of Brock’s shithead friends. Really, the others have been courteous and friendly anytime he’s been around them but there’s a bitterness twisting inside him telling him that anyone who wants to be friends with someone like Brock has shitty taste in friends and he’d rather not interact with them. But it’s not like he has a choice anymore than he’s had a choice in coming here at all, so he reluctantly walks with him toward the bar where there’s a small crowd. Probably some CO that Brock thinks he can impress by showing off his omega. 

He says nothing in response and he knows in a way that’s giving Brock exactly what he wants -- a submissive little omega to look pretty and keep his mouth shut. But it’s still better than actually talking to him. He looks around, bored and anxious and looking forward to the night being over so he can go home and curl up with Alpine. 

There’s a moment when the crowd parts and he catches a vaguely familiar glimpse of red, white and blue and Bucky groans, because _really?_ Brock is friends with _Captain America?_ Somehow that’s almost as disappointing as finding out that he’d been rejected from MIT when he’d applied during his senior year. 

But then he feels the ground beneath him shattering for the second time that day as he zeroes in on Cap’s face...and sees _Steve._ His Steve. Shock freezes him in place, mouth dropped open. 

Steve’s noticed that it looks like STRIKE is running security tonight; it’s maybe a little strange he and Natasha weren’t included, but it’s sort of like he’d told Bucky -- he (and Nat) are the big guns, and with multiple Avengers here (okay, just the two, him and Tony), there had already been some pretty big guns. 

So he doesn’t think anything of it, and maybe doesn’t even think much when he sees Brock Rumlow start to approach him out of the corner of his eye -- but then he turns all the way around to make sure there isn’t actually a problem when he sees that Brock isn’t alone, and that he’s toting along a -- someone -- 

_Bucky_. 

Steve feels like someone’s just thrown cold water in his face, even as Brock gives Bucky a bodily tug and gets them both up closer into Steve’s space, glancing between the two of them with this odd look on his face that Steve could almost swear was… satisfaction? 

“Cap, I didn’t know you’d be here,” Brock’s saying, from what feels like very far away. Steve’s heart is suddenly tap-dancing at the way Bucky’s staring at him, because of course, of course he is, he’s realizing Steve lied to him -- or at least hid the truth -- and Steve’s insides feel like they’re being stretched and squeezed in a vice all at the same time. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

“This is my boyfriend, James Barnes,” Brock tells Steve, a sly smile on his face. “James, this is Steve. Or...well. Captain America. Sir also works.” 

Steve Rogers is supposed to be the best tactical mind the human race has to offer. The thing is, somehow, when faced with this situation… he has absolutely no idea what to do. Brock essentially muscles Bucky up in front of him, calls him his _boyfriend_ , and introduces a Bucky who’s staring at Steve like he’s the worst thing he’s ever seen. 

Bucky doesn’t even hear Brock’s words because he’s staring so intently at Steve, taking in the sight of Steve decked out in the Captain America uniform...because Steve...is Captain America. Several things hit him at once the moment _that_ sinks in: that Brock _definitely_ knows Steve, which means Steve knows _Brock_ , and -- _Jesus_ , they’re on the same special ops team. They don’t just _know_ each other. They work together regularly. He feels the color drain from his face as his mind spins rapidly, realizing exactly why Brock’s introducing him to Steve: to point out just how much access he has, how much he can and would be willing to tell him. 

Distantly he registers that his left arm aches where Brock’s gripping onto it none-too-gently, yet another subtle warning and it feels like he can’t breathe at all. He doesn’t try and speak because he wouldn’t even begin to know what to say. He knows exactly what Brock’s doing, and he’s helpless to stop him from wrecking the best thing in his life because he _knows_ what this looks like to Steve. What it has to look like. 

Bucky swallows hard, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. 

Steve’s eyes dart from Brock’s face to Bucky’s; they’re both faces he knows well by this point -- or, at least, thought he knew well -- and he can see the smug satisfaction still written on Brock’s, the same as he can see the dawning horror on Bucky’s. It’s a look that makes him feel sick to his steel trap of a stomach. 

But then his eyes fall between them, on the grip Brock has on Bucky’s arm. And his mind kicks into gear, and he thinks back to that first day they met, to the look in Bucky’s eyes then, to the feel of the air and the acrid smell of fear and panic, and -- 

Something’s not right here. Something’s really not right here, and he doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t stand here like an idiot, either. Steve takes a step forward, aware that he’s looming a little but he goes with it. “We’ve met,” he says, in this way that might sound pleasant to anyone around them, but the look on his face is anything but. It’s serious, it’s assessing, and it’s locked onto the two people in front of him like there’s no one else in the room. “It must be a small world.” 

A very small world, with exes who won’t take no for an answer, he thinks, and takes another step forward. 

Bucky feels like his throat has closed up. His heart is hammering in his chest so loud he’s sure everyone around them can hear it. The tone of Steve’s voice doesn’t match the look on his face at all and he looks like he’s two seconds away from punching one or both of them and he’s not sure he’d even blame him. He’d bailed on Steve to be here tonight, and sure, maybe it’s because he’s being blackmailed, but he knows Steve has no way of knowing that. And he’s never seen that look on Steve’s face before, that serious, disappointed expression that makes Bucky’s cheeks burn with shame and guilt. 

He’s never been the kind of guy to break down in tears during a confrontation but right then that’s exactly what he feels like is about to happen and he won’t give Brock that satisfaction. He reaches up without really thinking about the consequences of humiliating the alpha in _public_ and pries his fingers off his left arm, yanking it away and stumbling backwards a few steps, bumping into people he doesn’t know. 

He can’t breathe. There’s too many people around, too many people watching, and God, _Steve_ \--

Bucky turns abruptly and pushes his way through the crowd as fast as he can, scrambling away toward the nearest exit without looking back. 

Steve’s ashamed to say that Bucky turning and running takes him by surprise. So does the way Brock’s face transforms, going from smug to furious in seconds as he twists to see what Steve can see -- Bucky disappearing through the closest door leading to the outside. 

He feels rooted to the spot still when, a second later, Brock turns back to him, and every trace of the anger is gone, his face a neutral mask -- the expression he gets before they’re deployed in the field. Even the way he tries to cock a playful grin a second later doesn’t really do him any favors, as he tosses Steve a lazy salute and a, “Well, I guess that’s my cue to go after my date,” before he starts striding toward the same door Bucky disappeared through. 

Steve’s arm shoots out but it’s too late; Brock’s already walking away, and at that exact moment, someone _else_ grabs his wrist and he turns, anger flaring because he doesn’t know what just happened, but he does know he has to go after them, go after Bucky, after Brock -- 

And there’s Pepper Potts, smiling at him, with two of the wealthiest patrons in the place right beside her, looking starry eyed. Steve’s stomach plummets through the floor, like he can _feel_ Bucky getting more distant with every frantic heartbeat, and something about the way Brock was acting… He can’t just let them both walk away. He needs to go after them. He needs to know what’s going on, and why. 

But he needs to talk to these patrons, too, and it takes everything in him to turn on a smile and shake hands and rush through a conversation as best he can, trying to give these people an experience that feels personal while internally counting every single second of head start Bucky and Brock got on him. It feels like an eternity, the reality of which is maybe only five, ten minutes, before he can extricate himself from the conversation, point them toward Tony Stark, and take off for the door, walking at first but, by the time he’s through the heavy fire door and into the hallway that must lead outside, he’s running full tilt. 

***

Bucky barely makes it outside before he’s gasping for breath. He doesn’t stop and look behind him. It doesn’t even occur to him to try and hail a cab as he reaches up to loosen his tie, feeling like it’s choking him as he moves away from the building, down the sidewalk as quickly as he can, feeling shaky and light-headed. _Did that really just happen?_

He knows it did, but it all feels surreal. Every second of that encounter replays in his head: catching sight of the Captain America uniform and realizing _Steve_ was the one wearing it, Brock gripping onto him hard enough to leave a bruise as he dragged him over and introduced him to Steve as his boyfriend. He needs to get home, needs to take a hot shower and maybe cry himself to sleep because he knows that last night will have been the last night that Steve spends at his place. Brock had made sure of that, and he knew that had been his intention. 

Just another way that Brock is reinforcing that Bucky’s life is his to mess with and ruin at any and all opportunities. He makes it halfway to the safety of the store and his apartment before he hears the footsteps approaching from behind and he braces himself the best that he can, not turning around because he doesn’t know which one of them is going to be there and he’s not even sure which one would be easier to deal with at this point.

Brock is livid, but he’s also grateful -- he’d known that “introducing” James to Cap was going to be interesting, but he couldn’t have predicted just _how_ interesting it was going to get. He’s pretty sure Cap scared the shit out of Barnes, just the same as Barnes knows, now, that his little fling with the good Captain was never going to last. He was always Brock’s, and Brock can feel his blood rising the closer he gets to the store, the closer he gets to the omega that HYDRA put in his charge. 

It’s going to be just the two of them, tonight, and he’s going to make sure Barnes can ever run out on him again. With his spirit broken, the bite will definitely work this time, it’ll take that much easier without James fighting him on it. Because why would he fight, when he’s seen just what happens when he does? 

He catches up to the other a couple blocks from the store. He comes up on Barnes like a freight train, grabbing him by the shoulder and twisting him up against the brick facade of the nearest building. 

A faint, pained cry escapes Bucky involuntarily when Brock twists his arm up behind his back, shoving him face-first into the wall, cold faux brick scraping against his skin. “Get your hands off me,” he snaps, struggling to get free of the other’s grip, but Brock’s bigger than he is and he has no problem using that to his advantage. Never has. 

“James, James -- that wasn’t very polite, was it? Cap might think you don’t like him,” Brock says, low into Bucky’s ear, not far from the place where he wants to sink his teeth in, where a bonding bite should go. “You’re still not very good at being a submissive omega, are you… well. I think we should give it another try.” 

But real fear shoots through Bucky at the implications of Brock’s words, at their positioning, at how close the other is to his neck and a shudder passes through him. “Brock, don’t,” he says thickly, voice wavering this time. He doesn’t want to be bonded to him anymore now than he wanted to be two months ago. “Please. You can’t even stand me, why would you wanna be stuck with me?”

Brock snorts into the skin just behind Bucky’s ear; “You think bonding is about wanting to be together? It’s about being shown your place, which you can’t seem to figure out any other way.” He leans in closer, nuzzling at Bucky’s neck with his nose, savoring the smell of scared omega, the faintest tinge he can just barely taste, and knows will get stronger if he can bond the man in his arms. With a real bond, one that takes, he’ll know better what Bucky is feeling, and be able to take advantage of it -- or head it off -- in whatever way he needs. 

Besides, the fight Bucky’s putting up? It’s like he’s just begging for Brock to do it, his voice wavering like that, his body shuddering in his grip. This time, the bite will take, the omega wants it, and Brock’s teeth are just starting to scrape at the skin of Bucky’s neck when he registers something at the edge of his own senses. He’s only human, but he’s still a battle-trained soldier, and he can hear feet pounding the pavement as he sighs and gives Bucky an extra shove, as if telling him to stay quiet and up against the wall until whatever or whoever it is passes them by, which seems like it’ll happen quick enough. 

Bucky struggles harder as he feels the telltale scrape of teeth against his skin, fear and desperation twisting in his gut when Brock gives him another shove against the wall. He winces, squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and then -- 

When he stepped out of the Rebirth pod, one of the first things Steve noticed -- and there were a lot -- was all the color. The world was full of it, and so much more of it than he could have ever imagined, being a colorblind kid who saw most things in shades of blue, green, and gray. Red had immediately become his favorite, and tonight, right now, he is seeing a _lot_ of it, feeling his blood boil and his skin tingle all over at what he just came upon on the street: Brock Rumlow, trying to force a bonding bite on Bucky Barnes. 

Because that? That is definitely force. Steve doesn’t even need the enhanced sense of smell, the fear and panic still flooding his senses, to know that. 

So he picks up speed and smacks Brock away from Bucky, maybe harder than was necessary but, in the end, not nearly hard enough to satisfy the fury inside him. 

Brock’s just turning his head to find out what the interruption is when something clocks him in the jaw hard enough to snap his neck around and send him flying away from Bucky, completely caught off guard. 

The hand twisting his arm into place is _gone_ entirely and Bucky drops to the ground instinctively, hearing the sound of flesh hitting flesh and momentarily he wonders if some mugger’s just interrupted one of the worst nights of his life. When he dares to look up, he’s expecting to see a gun in his face, or maybe a knife, but what he _actually_ sees is a red, white and blue suit, and when he manages to force his gaze up higher, it’s Steve’s face that he sees. 

And Brock is sprawled a few feet away on the ground, moaning in pain. 

Bucky’s dropped to the ground, and Steve steps protectively in front of him, both hands curled into fists, practically blazing at Brock as he’s only now starting to sit up, one hand to his jaw, which… might be broken. Steve hopes it is. Because if it is, maybe it’ll be enough to keep him from taking another swing and _trying_ to break it. Or something else. 

“Stay down, Rumlow,” he says, voice quiet and commanding and full of anger. “Stay down, or I will make sure you stay there. I don’t think he wants you to walk him home.” Or do anything else to him, now or ever again. 

Bucky doesn’t get up off the ground, either, feeling far too shaky and shocked to attempt something like _standing_. He swallows heavily, gaze darting briefly to Brock, who apparently has at least one functional brain cell in his head, because he holds up one hand and doesn’t try to get up after Steve’s order. 

He draws in a breath, reaching up to rub a hand over his face, and it comes back with a faint smear of blood from where the wall had dug into his cheek. It stings, but it’s his arm that’s throbbing painfully and he thinks Brock may have managed to dislocate his shoulder. He closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall of the building in an attempt to stop himself from trembling the way that he is. 

He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, reminding himself that this could have been so much worse if Brock had managed to sink his teeth into him again. The thought makes him want to vomit and his stomach does a violent little flip that signals that might not be too far away from happening anyway. His breathing is still heavy and ragged, but he finds himself staring up at Steve, at the protective stance he’s taken in front of Bucky. 

Steve watches Brock for a long, long moment, knowing better than to take his eyes off the man. Brock is just as deadly as Steve is, if in different ways, and Steve also knows better than to treat this like anything other than an active battlefield until he knows for sure that it’s not.

There’s still a roil of hot anger inside him, the _need_ to crush something underneath his fists. But Brock is staying down -- has one hand up, like he’s trying to calm Steve, prove he’s no threat -- and after a long, long moment, Steve turns to crouch down next to Bucky, who hasn’t moved from where he’d dropped to the sidewalk and whose breathing sounds pained and ragged and, frankly, has Steve more than a little worried.

“Can you stand?” he asks, one hand hovering just shy of touching Bucky’s arm. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital, or home?” 

Steve hears the scrape of boots on the sidewalk behind him and turns to see that Brock’s got himself standing now, and there’s something hard and cold behind his gaze. “Did you not understand what I asked?” Steve says flatly, not moving from in front of Bucky. Every nerve in Steve’s body is still buzzing, high on adrenaline and anger. He isn’t sure whether Brock is going to walk away or do something stupid; alphas can lose their minds over potential mates sometimes, but it’s mostly just an excuse to act stupid, more than an actual need. 

Besides. Bucky is a beta… he said he was a beta, and alphas only get _really_ stupid over omegas. Usually female omegas. So, Steve’s hoping Brock will walk away. 

Although… part of him _wants_ Brock to come at him -- the old part of him that’s always spoiling for a fight, the part that he’s had to bury under Captain America a little, the same way he had to stay at that damned party while Brock was chasing Bucky down and… 

He clamps down on the anger that bubbles up at that, and maybe Brock sees it flash through his eyes, or maybe he was never going to give it another go. Brock spits blood onto the sidewalk, glaring at Steve momentarily before letting his gaze move to Bucky. Or trying to, anyway. Steve’s blocking him from his sight. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s pretty sure his jaw is cracked, so he keeps his mouth shut before turning and heading away from the pair. One thing is for sure: this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. 

Bucky can see just enough to know that Brock has done the smart thing, that he’s walking away, at least for the time being. He’s not stupid enough to think this is the end of it. He closes his eyes, trying to get his breathing and heart rate under control. Because now he has to face _Steve._ Steve, who’d just saved his ass _again._

Steve, who he’d lied to about being a beta. Who he’d lied to about why he had to bail on their plans for tonight. _It’s not like he’s been telling you everything, either,_ he thinks idly, opening his eyes again to look at him, staring absently at the suit he’s wearing. He remembers seeing framed pictures of Captain America at Fort Drum during his training. He’d also been in the 107th -- except Steve had told him that had been his dad’s troop, not his own. But in those pictures, he’d always had on the mask. It never once registered to Bucky that that Steve and _his_ Steve were one and the same.

He feels overwhelmed by everything that’s happened tonight, all the things that came to light, and he’s sure Steve is, too. But he’s probably also _pissed._ Bucky can’t blame him there, but the idea of handling another pissed off alpha right then doesn’t do anything to help calm his nerves. 

Steve turns back to Bucky, who’s staring at him with wide eyes and who still hasn’t answered his question. He hasn’t said anything, just sat there and shit, shit, he must be in shock. 

“Buck,” he says, quietly, trying to gentle his voice, knowing it probably doesn’t come out as reassuring or soft as he wants but he’s _trying_. “Buck, I’m going to touch you now. I’m going to help you stand up, and we’re going to walk back to your place. Through the store.” Because Steve can’t fully trust that Brock won’t follow them, or won’t send someone else from STRIKE after them, and he will not risk Bucky’s secret back entrance. 

But he does have to risk touching Bucky; the way that he’s hunched tells Steve he’s favoring his left side -- the side he saw Brock gripping like a vice at the party. His hackles practically rise again at that, but there’s no one to be mad at right now over it except himself. He should have _said_ something, instead of standing there like an idiot, instead of staring and trying to figure out Brock’s game and trying to cow him out of it far, far too late. 

He gently reaches out to grasp Bucky’s upper arm on the right, gives him a careful little tug upward, trying to get him on his own two feet. This is Plan A; Plan B is to just pick him up and carry him, if he can’t actually find his feet, but Steve will always, always give someone the chance to try. 

Bucky watches as Steve moves closer, as he does what he says and touches his arm, gently grasping onto it and Bucky does not flinch; it’s a far cry from the way Brock had grabbed onto him at any point today -- and he forces his body to cooperate and work with Steve to help him get up. He’s on his feet a moment later and his breath catches for a second, eyes still a little wilder than usual. “Okay,” he mumbles, not quite able to meet Steve’s gaze. 

He can do this. He can let Steve walk him back to Book Barnes and his apartment. Steve’s never hurt him, never even uttered a mean or derogatory word to him, even if he deserves it. And he’s _Captain America._ He’s pretty sure that if anything _else_ can solidify his mental image of Steve as a good man, that’s it. 

“I’m okay.” It’s another lie, and probably one that Steve can see right through, but he needs to say it for his own sake. Needs to believe it. His shoulder’s out of place, and his cheek hurts from getting face smashed up against a wall, and he can still feel the scrape of Brock’s teeth over the same scarred over mark he’d left the last time. But he’s alive. He’s not bonded to anyone against his will. This is nothing compared to what he’d gone through in captivity overseas. 

And if Steve is pissed at him -- and he’s sure he is -- he still won’t _hurt_ him physically, won’t berate him. He might never see Steve again after tonight but if that’s the case, he’ll deal with that the same way he did when his dad wrote him off all those months ago. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Steve he rolled with the punches. He’s not the type to lie down and let himself die because he’s hurting or heartbroken. Sometimes he wishes he was. 

It’s a lie, but it’s a lie Steve understands -- intimately -- the need to tell. He simply nods and, when Bucky manages to get to his feet, does nothing more than loop an arm carefully around his waist and get them moving in the direction of the bookstore. It feels like it takes them a long, silent eternity to get back, before they reach the door and Steve asks, carefully, holding out his hand for the keys, “Will you let me get the door so I can get you inside? Or do you want me to get lost?” 

He doesn’t want to get lost. He doesn’t want to leave Bucky alone with this, and he doesn’t want to leave him without checking him over, making sure his arm _isn’t_ broken -- Bucky said it was numb a lot, what if he can’t tell how badly it’s hurt? -- but he can’t pretend that he can just expect Bucky to want Steve to see him inside, to stick around. Not after Steve lied to him, because no matter how he tries to justify it now… nothing can take away the look on Bucky’s face when Steve had turned around and there he’d been, in Brock Rumlow’s grasp, staring at Steve with utter shock. 

He doesn’t want to leave, but -- if Bucky wants him to, he will. He will, and he’ll feel fucking awful about it, but he will. At least -- he’ll disappear enough that Bucky won’t see him patrolling the block to make sure no one else from STRIKE is going to show up and ruin his already-ruined evening. Because that’s something else that Steve is going to have to deal with, and he will, but he needs to know how this is going to go, first. 

Some part of Bucky feels like he’s gone into auto-pilot and as soon as Steve asks for his keys, he digs into the pocket of his suit pants -- now dirty from sitting on the ground -- and drops them into his hand without reservation. His hands are still shaking and it’s all he can do not to slide his hand into Steve’s along with the keys he places there, but he doesn’t. 

“You can stay.” His voice sounds distant even to his own ears, and mentally he takes stock of the signs and symptoms. He’s in a state of shock. He’s with it enough to recognize that, at least. “If you want.” He doesn’t want Steve to stay out of pity or some kind of misplaced guilt because this isn’t Steve’s fault in the least. As much as he wants him to _want_ to stay, he’ll give him an out because he deserves that much from Bucky. If he wants to get the hell out of dodge after the evening’s disaster, he won’t blame him. Won’t hold it against him. 

Bucky leans tiredly against the wall as he waits for Steve to unlock the door, eyes closing momentarily. 

There’s plenty of guilt there, at least, but not so much pity as bone-deep _worry_. Bucky’s voice is flat and distant, and it makes Steve’s stomach twist up into knots even as he unlocks the door and ushers Bucky inside, locking it securely behind them before guiding Bucky through the rows of shelves toward the door to his apartment, out of the way at the back of the store. “I want to,” Steve insists quietly, unlocking the second door and getting them inside, locking that behind them, too, before dropping Bucky’s keys on the nearest horizontal surface and trying to get him into the small living room to sit on the couch. 

Every second that passes makes him feel worse, but he also feels like he does in the field -- he’s got a mission, to make sure Bucky is okay and doesn’t need medical care Steve can’t give -- and he’s got to get that done. He’s got to complete that mission and then he can move on to the next, whatever it is, whether it’s apologizing or wallowing or… whatever. “Sit down, Buck; can I take your suit jacket off? I need to see if he hurt you.” He has a feeling that if Bucky’s in bad enough shock, he won’t protest. But Steve’s also prepared to be fought on this, and every other step along the way, if that’s what it comes to. 

Bucky sits down on the couch almost mechanically, because he’s been told to sit, because his legs still feel like Jell-O. He blinks a couple of times, processing the question and knowing Steve probably wants to make sure Brock didn’t complete his mission in bonding with him. He thinks if their situations were reversed, he’d want to do the same. He draws in a slow breath and then nods, shrugging his right shoulder out of the jacket easily enough, and biting down hard on his lip, bracing himself for the sharp pain of getting the other sleeve off. There’s irony in the fact that most of the time his left arm is numb, but his shoulder he can feel just _fine._

Steve pulls his hands back as Bucky starts to take off the jacket himself -- that’s fine, that’s good, it means he’s at least thinking a little, despite the fact that he doesn’t appear to be paying attention to much that’s going on around him.

But then Alpine suddenly appears like a shooting star, streaking across the floor and jumping into Bucky’s lap, pressing her soft little head up beneath his chin. Steve’s nerves are strung so tight that he has to bite back on a yelp as she hurtles into Bucky’s lap. 

But Bucky’s right hand moves to stroke her fur and he finally glances at Steve, hesitant. “I don’t think I can get the rest of it off without help,” he admits, pressing his lips together. 

For a moment, Steve’s too busy being relieved that the way Bucky touches the cat isn’t mechanical like all his other motions have been; neither is the way he looks at Steve a moment later and says he can’t get out of the jacket without a hand.

But _that’s_ concerning right there. Steve nods, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and goes to push the jacket off Bucky’s left arm, hand coming up to take his forearm as gently as possible and maneuver his shoulder to get the jacket off. “Where does it hurt?” he asks, wishing he had X-ray vision to go with the rest of the heightened senses, wishing he could see through the sleeve of Bucky’s shirt even as he pulls the jacket off and tosses it over the back of the couch, so that he could tell without asking what Bucky needs. He starts going after the buttons on Bucky’s cuff, but the stupid uniform gloves are meant for heavy duty battle, and they aren’t like the fingerless ones he’s got with the suit he usually wears these days for SHIELD. He pauses long enough to pull his gloves off and drop them on the floor, searching Bucky’s face as if to silently prompt him to tell Steve where he’s injured, so Steve can do something about it. 

Some part of Bucky wants to protest even as Steve tries to maneuver the buttons on his left cuff, presumably to roll the sleeve up. He just doesn’t have it in him to stop him, even if Steve struggles because of the thick gloves on his hands and idly he realizes that Steve’s sprained hand had healed so fast because he’s enhanced. He doesn’t take his eyes off those hands as he strips the gloves off and lets them fall to the floor. 

After a few seconds, his gaze momentarily darts up to look at Steve, to meet his eyes, even if it’s only brief because he doesn’t want Steve to see the shame that’s burning there. “Shoulder,” he tells him honestly. “It’s out of the socket.” He knows, because he’s had medical field training himself, and he knows what a dislocated shoulder feels like anyway. He’s sure there’s a bruise on his arm where Brock gripped onto him so tightly, but it doesn’t hurt now because the pain isn’t intense enough there for him to feel it. 

The last thing Bucky wants is to go to the hospital. He’s more than had his fill of those for the rest of his life. And if he had enough feeling in general in his left arm, he’s sure he could do it himself, but he doesn’t. And he’s not above asking for help. “Do you know how to pop it back into place?” 

Honestly, the fact that Bucky will even meet his eyes makes something in Steve briefly relax -- at least, until Bucky explains that his shoulder is dislocated, and Steve’s jaw practically jumps with the way he’s got to clench it, so _angry_ at himself for missing that. 

He nods tightly, letting out a breath and saying, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Honestly, he’s known how to fix a dislocated shoulder since long before his basic field medic training with the Army. 

Relief washes over Bucky at Steve’s affirmative. He’d much rather have Steve set his shoulder than someone else at this point. He not only wants to avoid the hospital, he doesn’t relish the thought of a stranger touching him right now. 

Steve, though, knows exactly what fixing a dislocated shoulder feels like, and that it isn’t going to be a picnic. And dammit, he’s got his actual utility belt on but anything in it is designed specifically for him, which means that all the medication is far, far too high a dose for Bucky. Hell, drugs barely work on Steve, but SHIELD’s found a few things that, if applied in high enough doses and fast enough, can at least get Steve to stop squirming long enough to set whatever needs setting -- or just keep him going until he can be immobilized so the doctors can do whatever needs doing. But he can’t give any of that to Bucky. 

“I want to take off your shirt, make sure that’s the only problem, so I don’t make it worse,” he says softly, eyes flicking up to Bucky’s face. “Can you trust me to do that?” Bucky was just _assaulted_ by an alpha and Steve is not going to pretend that everything’s automatically okay if _he_ does it, because he knows what it’s like when you can’t stand for anyone to touch you, but he’s worried that if he doesn’t get a look at Bucky’s shoulder, can’t see what he’s doing when he fixes it, it’ll only make things worse. 

Well, that and he knows he’s got no real right to ask Bucky to trust him on anything, right now. 

Bucky scrapes his teeth over his lower lip. He still doesn’t love the idea of Steve seeing how disfigured and fucked up his left arm is, but at this point he’s not sure he’ll even see him again after tonight, which is -- too much to try and think about right now. It’s too painful, too breath-stealing, to contemplate.

He holds his breath, though, at the question of whether he can trust Steve, and he drags his eyes back up to meet Steve’s gaze. “I trust you,” he says quietly, and he means it, regardless of the fact that Steve hadn’t told him about the whole Captain America thing. He presses a kiss to Alpine’s head, gently pulling her away from his chest where he’s been cradling her and he sets her on the couch beside him, reaching up with his right hand to start undoing the buttons. 

There’s something about the way Bucky says _I trust you_ that makes Steve feel worse, and not better. He knows Bucky means it, and maybe that’s what it is -- Bucky means it, trusts Steve, even after finding out there have been things Steve has kept from him. But the thing is… Steve trusts Bucky, too. He has no idea that Bucky thinks he must still be mad over Rumlow; Steve doesn’t know what happened between the two of them today, but he does know, without a doubt, that Bucky wasn’t happy about it, didn’t do it for anything other than an important reason, and that when Rumlow had introduced Bucky as his boyfriend, he’d been lying through his teeth. Steve still doesn’t know _why_ , but that’s something he can deal with later, when Bucky doesn’t need medical attention and isn’t suffering the pain of a dislocated shoulder. 

So Steve pushes everything he’s feeling down and takes a breath, letting Bucky undo the buttons on his shirt, wanting to give him as much control as he can until Bucky makes it clear he needs Steve’s help. 

Bucky’d never been ashamed of his body growing up. He isn’t muscled the way Steve is by any means; his body is far more lean than that, more like a swimmer’s than a body-builder’s. And he’s managed to stay in shape thanks to physical therapy that he’s kept up even after his actual appointments had finished. He just does the exercises on his own now. But the arm -- 

It’s another story. He doesn’t even like to look at it himself, does his best not to, even when he’s drying off after a shower. It’s not a pretty sight. It’s a stark reminder of things he’s tried to deal with in therapy but knows he still has a long way to go on. He draws in a breath as he undoes the last button and then he glances up at Steve, shrugging off the right sleeve easily enough. 

It’s then that Steve reaches up, carefully, and slides the fabric down Bucky’s left arm and off, draping the shirt with his suit jacket over the back of the couch. And then he gets his first look at Bucky’s arm. 

And it’s… Steve’s reminded, viscerally, of some of the men he saw who’d suffered blasts, shrapnel, flamethrowers. But at the same time, this is completely different, because all of those injuries were accidental, random, just really shitty luck. The skin on Bucky’s arm… it’s disfigured in a way that looks almost methodical. Steve can see the pattern under the chaos, and he realizes this isn’t so much a battlefield injury as something much more deliberate. Something much, much worse. 

But he can’t focus on that right now; he isn’t squeamish and he won’t pretend that something that wasn’t Bucky’s fault disgusts him. The action and intent behind the arm disgusts him, but not the arm itself, which is why he doesn’t hesitate to lean in close, to put one steadying hand on Bucky’s knee while he checks the shoulder with fingertips that are as light as he can manage.

Bucky braces himself the best he can, waits for what feels like the inevitable disgust, remembering so, so vividly the look on Brock’s face when he’d seen it for the first time. And then the time after that. He doesn’t want to see it on Steve’s face, but he forces himself to look at his face as the other takes it in. And there’s nothing there -- no expression that he can read, no disgust or disdain. He simply looks like he’s trying to figure out the best way to set his shoulder back into place. 

He can feel Steve’s fingertips dancing lightly over his shoulder, touch soft enough that it doesn’t cause pain, but still registers as sensation. And he knows this isn’t going to be pleasant. He has a high threshold for pain even if he doesn’t like that he has it. It’s come in handy more than once. 

Steve finally leans back a little and nods, saying, “Yeah, it’s dislocated. I think that’s all, though. We just need to pop it back.” 

Which means, “Tell me to stop if you need me to stop,” he says, and gets up only to crawl onto the couch, straddling Bucky’s hips with a knee on either side of his legs, weight balanced easily so that no part of him is actually touching Bucky. Then he carefully bends Bucky’s left elbow, tucks the arm in against his side, and reaches back to slide one hand between Bucky’s shoulder and the couch for support, gently lifting and rotating his elbow and arm with the other.

Suddenly Steve’s body is straddling his own and Bucky loses _his_ focus. The only place they’re actually touching is his arm, and shoulder and Steve’s hands. He bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood as Steve manipulates his shoulder and there’s that familiar, sickening _pop_ of a shoulder going back into its socket. 

It takes everything in Bucky, but he doesn’t cry out. Doesn’t want Steve to feel guilty for hurting him in order to help him, and Steve is just that way. He closes his eyes, stomach turning at the momentary blinding pain, but he stays conscious. Needs to stay conscious more than he needs the sweet bliss of pain-free sleep right now. “Thanks,” he says, breathing hard as the pain fades into a dull, more manageable ache. His head is resting back on the couch, angled in such a way that now he’s looking directly up at Steve, half-naked even if the reasons aren’t fun ones. 

Bucky’s all too aware of Steve’s body pressed close to his own and he swallows heavily. 

“Yeah, of course, Buck,” Steve says softly, sinking down a little on his knees, but still carefully, deliberately _not_ touching Bucky. He should move -- he should really move -- but it’s amazingly hard to get up the wherewithal to slide off the couch when he can feel Bucky there, right in front of him, solid and real and in one piece, even if things aren’t great right now. He rests one hand lightly on Bucky’s right shoulder, figuring the left has got to still be painful, and will be for a while. 

“Is there anything else?” he asks, eyes trying to scan Bucky’s head, neck, and torso, now that he’s got an unhindered view. “Well -- besides this --” he frowns, brushing a thumb just under the nasty, bloody scrape on Bucky’s cheek; he should get that cleaned out, even if it looks like it’s mostly scabbing over now. 

A quiet, almost inaudible sound escapes Bucky at Steve’s thumb against his cheek. There’s something about the soft sound Bucky makes that makes Steve want to lean in and kiss him, to touch his lips to his mouth and nose and cheek and… everywhere, until he can make this go away. But he can’t -- he can’t make it go away, especially not when he knows he’s part of the problem. 

So instead Steve starts to push back, finally, so he can stand and get a damp towel, and maybe put together an ice pack for Bucky’s shoulder, the same way Bucky did for him, what feels like so long ago now, even though it’s really, really not. “I’m gonna get something to clean that up. And some ice.” 

Bucky nods when Steve says he’s going to get ice and whatever else to clean the wound on his face. He hasn’t seen it yet, doesn’t know how bad it is, but the pain there’s basically gone, so he assumes it’s just an artificial wound. He reaches up instinctively to the back of his neck, touches the skin where Brock’s teeth had been, however briefly, and he’s relieved they don’t come back with blood. If he bit hard enough to break the skin, the blood’s already dried there and he can’t tell. 

“Want some blankets? Or I can help you up to bed.” God, Steve’s supposed to be _good_ at this, good at taking control of situations, and here he is, second-guessing everything. That must be what happens when you keep something from someone you shouldn’t. It’s best, for now, to just focus on how to help Bucky, and not on how he’s going to have to explain himself. That will definitely come soon enough. 

“I think I just...wanna take a shower.” Bucky’s voice is rough sounding, but it’s lost the hollow quality from before. “Maybe the ice after?” That would make more sense. He rubs his hand over his eyes wearily. “Can you stay? At least -- til I’m back out?” He’s hesitant, but he doesn’t want to think about dropping his guard long enough to shower if Steve needs to leave soon. The gala hadn’t been over, he’d just made an abrupt exit. For all he knows Steve might need to get back. But he can shower quickly and get out, be dressed and ready just in case Brock decides to show back up. 

He thinks of the loaded gun hidden beneath the floorboards under the rug, thinks of the laptop and information stored safely out of sight. If Brock comes back tonight, Bucky will be ready for him, even if it lands him in prison. 

Something in Steve’s stomach starts to twist when Bucky says he wants to take a shower, like maybe this is the part where he says _Thanks, but you can go now, and don’t ever come back._

Except that’s not what he says. Steve is braced for it, standing in front of him in the small space between the couch and the coffee table, but those words never come. Instead, Bucky says _after_ and _stay_ and Steve’s nodding like an idiot before Bucky even finishes the second question. “Yeah -- yeah, of course. I can stay as long as you want me to.” Because, quite frankly, fuck the gala. Yes, he ran out in the middle of it, but this is more important and he isn’t going to feel one ounce of regret over leaving. Tony can probably work the room all on his own. And STRIKE… 

STRIKE is something he’s going to have to deal with later. Or at least Rumlow, because Steve isn’t foolish enough to think that one man’s actions really do reflect a whole company’s feelings. But he _also_ isn’t foolish enough to think that a whole company can be oblivious to one man’s actions. The fact that _he_ was is bad enough. But now he’s going to have to deal with it, because he’s the CO, and that’s what COs do. 

Bucky lets out a shuddering breath at how easily Steve says he’ll stay as long as Bucky wants him to, nodding and letting his head drop forward, giving him a minute to collect himself. 

“Come on,” Steve says, softly, reaching out a hand to help Bucky up, if he’ll take it. “Take the longest, hottest shower you can imagine. I’ll be here.” It’s like a promise and an apology all rolled up into one, as he’s already planning to clean up a little in here and make sure Alpine’s been fed and find anything else he needs to do to occupy his mind while Bucky’s in the shower. “Need me to grab you some clean clothes?” 

Bucky takes Steve’s offered hand, grasping onto it tightly as he rises to his feet, cheeks ruddy from the rush of emotions and everything that’s happened today. “Thank you,” he says, quiet. Sincere. Steve doesn’t have to go to this length to make sure he’s okay. He doesn’t owe Bucky anything. He can’t stop himself from squeezing his hand before letting go and heading toward the small bathroom. “Clothes would be great. Just...anything is fine. Doesn’t matter.” He motions vaguely to the wardrobe near the bookcase. “Um.” He rubs a hand over his face again, gathering up every ounce of courage he has before saying one more thing. “Maybe make a pot of coffee? If you’re up for talking. I think we’ve got some stuff to talk about. If I didn’t fuck things up bad enough already.” 

Bucky’s eyes are burning with tears and he sniffs involuntarily before continuing on his way to the bathroom. 

Steve’s slept over here often enough to know that Bucky’s got plenty of clothes he can choose from; he’s already planning to grab sweatpants and a soft shirt when Bucky mentions coffee, and for a split second Steve’s heart soars -- until Bucky keeps talking. And -- 

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve says, and it doesn’t take much effort at all to cross the short distance to where Bucky’s shuffling off, and maybe he shouldn’t, but Steve’s fingers grab for Bucky’s right arm before he can really stop himself -- not grasping or confining, just trying to catch at him before he can get any further, get him to turn around. “Bucky, you didn’t fuck anything up. You -- you told me, the day we met. That you had an ex who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I just… I assume that’s who you meant,” he finishes, quiet and a little ashamed, both because he somehow hadn’t caught on (not that he could have known, Bucky hadn’t talked a lot about his ex and Steve hadn’t pushed), and because Bucky’s not the one who fucked up, here. Steve is. They _do_ have a lot to talk about, Steve just… figured it would be him, doing all the explaining. The apologizing. 

Bucky doesn’t try to pull away when Steve catches his arm, and he ignores the way a tear trickles down his cheek even as he turns to face Steve again. He wishes it was as simple as Steve believes it, but there’s too much he doesn’t know yet and he’s not foolish enough to think it won’t change things when he finds out. And he’s going to tell him. He has to. 

Steve drops his hand away from Bucky’s arm abruptly, taking a step back. “Take your shower, I’ll make some coffee,” he confirms. “But don’t go in there thinking anything that happened today is on you. Whatever happened… it’s on Brock. And me. I know that.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow when Steve blames today on himself, genuine confusion flickering across his face. “Steve...we’ll talk when I’m done, but...I’m not mad at you,” he says simply, letting his gaze drop to the giant white star emblazoned across his chest. He reaches out for a moment, lays his hand there and meets his eyes, trying to muster up a smile that doesn’t quite make it. “It wasn’t your fault.” Steve being at fault couldn’t be farther from the truth, even if the truth is somewhat in question on both their parts at the moment. 

Steve doesn’t necessarily feel relieved, even when Bucky says he’s not mad. It feels like he _should_ be, like it would almost be easier to deal with this if he were, and Steve wants to say something else but if he does, Bucky’s never going to get into the shower and he needs that, Steve knows. He needs some time to decompress and if that’s time Steve has to spend worried and uncomfortable, it’s nothing less than what he deserves. He just wants to make sure that Bucky doesn’t go in there thinking he’s to blame. 

Which is why seeing that tear track down his face hurts just as much as anything has in a long time, and why Steve has to clench his fingers into a fist at his side to keep from reaching out for Bucky again, because he has to let Bucky go and actually get in the shower. 

Bucky lets his hand drop again, and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him but not locking it, knowing Steve will need to bring his clothes inside when he finds them. He strips out of his suit pants and boxers, his socks. He lays his towel on the sink and then climbs into the shower, turning the water on as hot as he can stand it and willing it to calm the noise in his head, even if it’s just for a few minutes. 

Just a few minutes. 

Once the door clicks shut behind Bucky, Steve starts moving again, almost like someone’s flipped a switch. He grabs some clothes for Bucky once the water is already running, tapping on the door and dropping them off in the bathroom before retreating again. Then he hangs Bucky’s shirt and suit jacket carefully on a hanger, knowing they’re going to need to be cleaned but at least neither actually seems ripped or stained past saving, which is a relief. He picks up his gloves -- and then takes off his boots, setting both in a neat pile by the door. He hesitates, then shrugs out of the uniform’s top, which leaves him in an athletic shirt and too-tight blue pants, but it seems better than walking around wearing the whole uniform like he’s trying to make some kind of stupid statement, or remind Bucky of who he is. He’s not. He’s just -- he’s still just Steve, and he just hopes Bucky will see that. He hasn’t really seemed too overwhelmed by the whole Cap thing, but he’s sort of had other things to worry about tonight. Steve’s maybe a little worried that when all the dust settles, that might be when it sinks in that he hid it from Bucky. 

But if that’s what happens, then that’s what happens, and he’ll face it. 

After that, he putters around, not quite wearing a hole in the floor between the living room and the kitchen as he waits for the coffee to brew, as he pulls out a towel and a plastic bag for ice, as he pulls down mugs so he can pour out the coffee and have at least one cup of it ready to go for Bucky, just how he likes it, when he comes out. 

And after that, all he can really do is sit on the couch with the mugs in front of him on the coffee table and try not to grab at his hair or crack the floorboard beneath his feet with the way his foot keeps jiggling for lack of anywhere else for his energy to go. 

Bucky doesn’t rush through his shower the way he thought he might need to. He knows Steve will still be there waiting for him when he’s done, and as much as he doesn’t want to keep him waiting, he needs the time to himself just to decompress, going over every single thing he’d done wrong today, starting with his initial conversation with Brock. He still doesn’t know what he could have said or done to change the outcome, but it feels like there should have been _something._

He _knows_ he shouldn’t have lied to Steve about why he was bailing, feels _guilty_ for that split second where he’d thought that Steve might just take Brock’s side because they worked together. He knows better. He knows he handled the moment at the gala _horribly_ by running off and making a scene, and Brock is probably already plotting some kind of retaliation for all of it. He pushes that thought out of his mind for the time being, though, because he can’t deal with that yet. 

His left shoulder aches terribly and the hot water does little to soothe it, and he hopes that the ice will help. That and maybe a couple of the harder-hitting painkillers they’d prescribed to him at the hospital. He’d stopped taking them as soon as he could bear the pain without them, because he hated what they did to his head. He needed to be clear-minded. On top of things. 

Unbidden, three words came to mind, whispering across his consciousness: _Order through pain._ His head aches suddenly and he squeezes his eyes shut, wondering where the hell that had come from. If it had been something from a movie or a book, it wouldn’t give him a headache to think about. No, it’s something he’s heard...from somewhere. He’s just not sure where. 

Bucky steps out of the shower and dries off, tugging on the clothes that Steve had left out for him, grateful that he’d chosen something soft, warm. He catches sight of his face in the mirror and grimaces a little at the marks, but they don’t look too awful. There’s that at least. He still can’t tell if Brock had broken the skin on his neck, can’t crane that far to look in the mirror. He doesn’t feel any unusual kind of connection to the guy though, so he takes that as a good sign. He exhales and steps out of the bathroom, pausing in his tracks at the sight of Steve, stripped down to a thin t-shirt and the pants from his Captain America uniform, sitting on his couch and looking as anxious as Bucky’s felt all day. 

“You uh -- you can wear a pair of my sweatpants if you want,” he offers. “You’d never fit in one of my shirts but the pants should be okay.” If a little short. For as broad as Steve’s shoulders are, his hips are as narrow as Bucky’s. 

Steve’s head comes up as soon as he hears the bathroom door open; he offers Bucky a smile that’s probably shakier than he wants it to be, but he’s already starting to get up to give Bucky the closest spot on the couch when Bucky says he can grab a pair of sweatpants and that shaky smile turns into more of a relieved one. That means Bucky’s definitely okay with him staying, and… it gives him the chance to get out of the rest of the uniform, which feels like it puts them on more even footing. 

“Yeah, I -- okay. Thanks,” he says, but he’s already headed for Bucky, giving him a once-over to check that the scratches on his cheek haven’t started bleeding again, and that there isn’t anything _else_ obvious he missed. He does want to take a look at the back of Bucky’s neck, but -- he hasn’t been able to bring himself to ask about that yet. There hadn’t been any blood on Bucky’s shirt or jacket, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a bruise. Just _thinking_ about Brock trying to _force_ a bond on Bucky -- on _anyone_ \-- makes his skin crawl and his instincts scream, but he takes a breath to steady himself and brushes carefully past Bucky to grab some ice out of the freezer, now that he’s out of the shower. “You go sit down. Let me get you some ice, and then I’ll get changed.” 

“Okay,” Bucky agrees quietly, mostly because he’s been standing up for over a half hour and he feels drained and shaky. He moves over to the couch, sinking down onto the cushions and exhaling slowly. 

He's glad that Steve agreed so easily about changing clothes. He just doesn’t look like he can possibly be that comfortable in pants that are as tight as his uniform pants are. And as much as Bucky hates to admit it, those pants are entirely too distracting when they need to have a conversation as serious as the one that they need to have. 

With something to do, a mission to follow again, Steve feels better, putting together the ice and towel and bringing it over to Bucky before heading back to the wardrobe, rifling through for a moment to get another pair of pants and retreat into the bathroom to change. 

When Steve disappears, Bucky leans forward and picks up the cup of coffee that Steve had poured for him, taking a long drink. It’s the first thing he’s had to drink or eat in _hours._ It’s gone in seconds, and he refills it while Steve’s changing clothes, then moves back to the sofa once more, pressing the ice pack to his shoulder. 

He’s not even surprised when Alpine jumps up onto his lap, because she always seems to stay close when he’s anxious or upset. 

The bathroom is warm and steamy and it smells like _Bucky_ in here, and so do the pants as Steve puts them to his face and inhales -- and then immediately feels like a creep, stripping off the rest of the uniform and pulling on the sweatpants before heading out of the bathroom and back to the couch, tossing his uniform pants over the same chair he’d draped the top. The cuffs are only a little higher than they should be; he’s taller than Bucky, but only by an inch or few.

“D’you still want to talk?” he asks, carefully, pretty sure the answer is yes, but willing to accept it if it’s changed. 

Bucky lets out the breath he’d been holding, watching Steve reappear in the main room wearing a pair of his sweatpants. “Yes,” he says softly, worrying his lower lip. “Do you?” 

Steve laughs softly, even though there’s pretty much nothing funny about the situation or the question. It disappears from his voice quickly enough, but his tone stays soft, gentle. “We should,” he says, settling down next to Bucky on the couch, not _quite_ touching but close enough that they could be -- but only if Bucky wants to. He isn’t sure how any of this is going to go, but he does have to admit that talking is better than being thrown out. 

He runs a hand through his hair, which already distinctly looks like he’s been doing that a lot. “I guess you know what I’m going to say, though. I’m, uh, _that_ Steve Rogers. And I know I kept it from you, I chose not to tell you, and I could tell you why but I’m not sure it’s a very good reason, anymore.” He swallows, reaching for his mug, though it’s mostly for something to hold, rather than something to drink. “I’m sorry. I never -- lied, exactly. But I wasn’t completely honest, and I never meant for you to find out the way you did.” 

Bucky watches him as he talks, his voice quiet and open, and he questions himself -- on whether he’s accepted Steve’s secret so easily because he has so many of his own that he wants Steve to forgive him for keeping. He sets his mug down on the table, aching to reach out and touch him but not feeling like he’s earned that right back yet. 

“Steve, it’s…” He searches for the right words, needing to tell him that it’s _okay_. “I’m not upset with you for not telling me. We uh -- we haven’t really known each other that long and that’s a pretty big thing. It shocked me, yeah. But not...in a bad way?” He looks at him intently, searches his eyes. “I get wanting to connect with someone without worrying about if they’re into you because of who you are and not because of your fame or your past or…” His voice trails off momentarily, and he closes his eyes, swallowing. “Or because of your _designation._ ” 

Steve isn’t sure he deserves forgiveness so easily, but he also can’t help but care even _more_ for Bucky, who pretty much volunteers the exact reason Steve hadn’t wanted to tell him all on his own, like he _gets_ it. Like it’s just that easy, and Steve glances down at his coffee before he looks back up at Bucky because, “So many people… it makes things weird. Right away, they think they don’t know how to talk to me, or worse, they think they _do_ think they know how to talk to me, how to treat me, and I just -- I didn’t want that to happen to you. I kinda like you too much for that,” he says, and now he does risk reaching out, resting one hand over Bucky’s, squeezing gently. 

Even if he has a weird, bad feeling about how Bucky ended that sentence, because… designation is an odd thing to bring up. Unless it’s just the fact that it’s harder for an alpha to bond a beta than an omega, and maybe Brock gave him shit about it. Steve wouldn’t put it past him. 

Bucky’s breathing hitches when Steve reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing so light and gentle, like he might break. And he might. He’s broken before. But he’s put himself back together, too. And maybe he doesn’t have everything figured out, but he’s working on it. 

Bucky finally opens his eyes once more, steeling his nerves. “I haven’t exactly been honest with you, either,” he admits, voice barely a whisper. 

Steve frowns, because Bucky still seems to think that he’s got to explain things to Steve, but he doesn’t. “Whatever Rumlow used to talk you into tonight… it’s not your fault. I know what kind of training he’s had. You don’t have to explain it to me if you don’t want to,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hand carefully again. “I trust you. If you can trust me to be here, with you, after what happened -- I trust you.” 

Steve’s giving him an out, and as much as part of Bucky would like to take it, he can’t. Not if he wants this thing between them to have any real chance of working out. And God, he does. He wants that more than anything he’s ever wanted before, because God help him, two weeks into this relationship and he’s pretty sure he’s already in love with this man. 

It takes Bucky a few seconds to gather up the courage to say what he needs to say to Steve. “It’s not -- about Brock. Not exactly. It all correlates, but it’s not...so much about him. It’s about me. About who I am. _What_ I am.” As much as he doesn’t want to look at him, he owes him that respect, and so he lifts his gaze to meet Steve’s. 

“I lied to you, when I told you I was a beta. I’m not.” _Not anymore,_ he thinks distantly. “I’m an omega, Steve.”


	5. Chapter 5

Steve’s caught off guard by the admission, sure. It’s not what he’d expected Bucky to say. But while half of him is confused, to be sure, half of him… really isn’t. He knows he’d assumed, at first, the first time they’d met -- and he tries very hard _not_ to assume things about people. He also knows that a lot of times his assumptions and hunches are just his body (more to the point, his senses) picking up on things subconsciously, filtering them through to his brain behind the scenes. So honestly, the fact that he’d thought Bucky smelled like desperate omega the first time they’d met, just for a moment, does suddenly make sense. 

But while that makes sense… the rest of it doesn’t. Because, “You -- didn’t want to tell me, because… you thought I’d act like Brock?” he finally hazards, brows furrowed and clearly not so much angry as confused. Although in the end, he’s not really confused by that, either -- a lot of alphas treat a lot of omegas like absolute shit, and if Bucky was coming off a relationship with Brock Rumlow, then -- “I mean, that does make sense,” he adds, with a little laugh that doesn’t sound so much like he thinks this whole thing is funny as much as he thinks it’s sad. “You didn’t know I wouldn’t treat you like shit.” 

_You’re kind of a genius, and I wish I could’ve used that trick,_ he doesn’t say, but he definitely thinks it. Unfortunately, people used to assume _all the time_ , and little scrawny Steve Rogers definitely looked like a helpless omega. 

“But I won’t,” he says, suddenly, insistent -- and realizes he’s touching Bucky, and pulls his hand away, like he needs permission to do it all over again. “I won’t, Buck, I swear. When I said I didn’t care if you were an alpha… hell, that goes for omega, too. It doesn’t matter to me. You are who you are. You’re not just your designation.” 

“It wasn’t that.” Bucky’s voice is hushed. “Steve, the store is in my name. Not my sister’s or my parents’. Gramps left it to me.” He swallows hard and looks up at him. “If the wrong person finds out…” He doesn’t have to finish that thought, because he knows Steve knows that omegas aren’t allowed to own businesses. Not unless the alpha they’re bonded with _allows_ it. Tony Stark hadn’t just made headlines with his debut as Iron Man, but also because he’d signed his company over to his girlfriend Pepper, an omega. It had brought down hard scrutiny, caused a ripple effect that he’s not even sure Stark’s aware of. 

“I fuckin’ _hate_ that that's still the case,” Steve all but growls, right before realizing he's starting to squeeze his coffee cup a little too hard, and he's about to break it all over himself. He reaches over, setting it down on the coffee table with a slow breath in, a quiet sigh. “I really thought… with all the things that have changed in the past seventy years, maybe _that_ could’ve been one of them. Omegas aren’t any less than anybody else, and they shouldn’t need anybody’s _permission_ to own anything or do whatever they want.”

“The last ten months of my life have been…” Bucky shakes his head a little. “Some of the worst I could have imagined.” There’s no hint of kidding in his voice. “The store is all I’ve had,” he admits, voice dropping more. “It’s the last piece of my grandpa that I still have.” Alpine meows in indignant protest and he pets her gently. “And Alpine.” Bucky exhales and looks at Steve. “Brock’s known from the time we met that I’m an omega. I never thought he’d actually use it against me. Now I’m just surprised he didn’t do it sooner.” 

So of course, Bucky couldn’t have known Steve would never hold it against him. He couldn’t have guessed that Steve, as an alpha, even one who seemed nice, wouldn't turn him in for owning a store, for managing it. Wouldn’t blackmail him for it. Like Brock had. It makes Steve feel sick, sort of in the same way that he used to feel twisted up and wrong and vaguely nauseous at how _differently_ everyone treated him as Cap, not _just_ for the looks or the strength, but because he was an alpha. A born leader, they thought. A natural hero. 

Like omegas couldn’t do heroic things, put their lives on the line, want to serve their country. 

Which -- “But omegas still can’t serve in the military, either,” Steve says quietly, curiously. “Did you lie to them, too?” 

There is something in his gaze that is, strangely, vaguely reminiscent of jealousy. 

At that, Bucky closes his eyes, drawing in a slow, deep breath. “That’s where things get a little complicated,” he says honestly. “I was born a beta, Steve. I was a beta right up until ten months ago, when I was overseas.” He buries his face in Alpine’s fur for a moment and feels her purring against his chest, soothing him. “My unit was ambushed. We were taken prisoner. Most of them didn’t live through the shit they did to us.” 

He shudders involuntarily. “But I did. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow I lived and when I was rescued, I was out of it for a few days...but when I woke up, everything was different. I was different. Whatever those bastards did to me changed me.” He rubs a hand over his face, his words strained because reliving that, talking about it in even in the most generalized terms without a lot of horrific details, is something he’s barely even managed in therapy so far. “One day I was a beta, and then...I wasn’t. And I still can’t make sense of it. I didn’t even know it was something that was possible.” 

Steve takes that all in; and if Bucky was expecting him to look surprised, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. Because none of what Bucky’s saying should make sense, and it wouldn’t, not to a normal person. But Steve is anything _but_. And what he hears both endears him all the more to this man, and also drives a cold spike of fear right into his gut, when he thinks of that mission and what Natasha told him on the quinjet. When he thinks of someone like Bucky in the hands of someone like HYDRA. That is what twists that spike inside him -- that, and hearing exactly what happened, at least as far as Bucky knows. 

Because at least Steve had gone into it with open eyes. He’d agreed to it. He’d _begged_ for it.

And if Bucky has told _that_ secret, then there’s no reason for Steve not to reciprocate. “Well, I was born an omega, so if you need any… I don’t know, perspective,” because he doesn’t want to say _help_ , that implies Bucky can’t handle being an omega on his own, and he surely can, “I was one for a lot more of my life than I’ve been an alpha,” he finishes, quietly, but steadily, watching Bucky because if Bucky can look him in the face and tell him this, then Steve can do the same. 

Steve might not have been surprised by Bucky’s revelation, but Bucky’s sure as hell surprised by Steve’s. He looks at him, shakes his head a little. “I remember seeing pictures of you before, but no one ever said anything about your designation changing,” he tells him, eyebrows furrowing. “Did you know that part, going in?” He would understand if he’d known, if he’d wanted it _because_ of that. The treatment of omegas over the decades has gotten better, but they obviously still had a hell of a long way to go as far as Bucky’s concerned. 

Honestly, it’s maybe a little nice to see the shock on Bucky’s face, if only because it’s replaced the hollowed-out look he’d gotten, describing what had happened to him. Steve knows it’s not going to make anything better, but taking his mind off of it, even for just a few moments, seems like the tiniest victory. 

“It was part and parcel of the serum,” Steve explains. “Omegas couldn’t serve in the military, and anyone worth their salt knew that a super soldier would _have_ to be an alpha.” 

Some people -- a lot of people -- had thought that meant only giving the serum to alphas. But Dr. Erskine, God rest his soul, had thought differently. Had _known_ differently. It was one of the many, _many_ reasons Steve had looked up to the man, respected him. “The reason you haven’t heard that I wasn’t already an alpha and that there was a substance in this world capable of changing someone’s designation at all is because it’s very, very classified,” Steve says, voice a little wry, even self-effacing. “They couldn’t completely hide who I was before, but… a lot of it got erased. ‘Lost,’ even in 1943. I agreed to that, too. They said I was just a late bloomer. Skewed some of the dates on the pictures.” Steve had always looked a couple years younger than he really was, simply because he was so small and skinny. 

“So yeah. I knew. I -- wasn’t overly broken up about it,” Steve admits, too, because if he’s going for honesty, might as well go all the way. But, “I let them change me, so it’s not the same,” he adds quickly. “I agreed and I knew it was coming, but -- I guess I know a little of how you felt, and to feel that way without knowing what’s going on… Buck, I’m so sorry. That’s awful. That’s not something that should be taken away from _anyone_.” 

“And after… things were different than I expected. Harder, in some ways. Sometimes they still are.” And when he’d told Bucky he wouldn’t have cared if they were both alphas, well -- he was speaking from experience. 

Bucky listens intently, then slowly leans back against the couch cushions, trying to absorb all of that. Steve had been an omega, like him. And whatever serum he’d been injected with back in the forties had turned him into an alpha. “It’s like we got opposite serums,” he murmurs, trying to work it out in his head. Except that when some people got the serum Bucky had, they’d died instead of just having their designations swapped. Why hadn’t he? It still doesn’t make any sense to him. He pets Alpine absently, shifting on the couch enough to angle his body toward Steve a little more, most of his fears about Steve being pissed off for being lied to drained away now.

“Yeah,” Steve muses, and while that’s all he _says_ on the matter… it’s certainly not all he thinks. Because he is definitely thinking about that mission now, and about how badly he needs to get in touch with Natasha. 

But it can wait. It _can_ , just a little longer, because Bucky is more important right now. That mission was weeks ago, and nothing’s come of it yet. A few hours won’t change anything. But the next few hours are really important for Bucky, who’s still hurt and -- 

“Maybe that’s why it didn’t work when Brock tried to bond me before,” Bucky pipes up, softly. “Maybe whatever’s running through my veins wouldn’t let it take.” And if that’s the case, well. At least it did _something_ useful for him. It doesn’t occur to him that Steve didn’t even know that tonight isn’t the first time Brock had tried to force a bond on him. 

_That_ certainly gets Steve’s attention, gets every single one of his not-so-new-anymore alpha instincts raging, because, “He’s tried that shit before? Buck --” Well holy hell, Rumlow has really got it coming. Steve’s more than a little disappointed now that he didn’t break more than the guy’s jaw. 

And this time, those instincts overcome the way he’s been trying to be careful, and his hand reaches out again for Bucky’s. “Bucky. That is the shittiest thing a person can do to another person, omega or not. And if whatever you do have in you that changed you staved it off… then I don’t want to be glad for it, but maybe I am, just a little.” 

It’s probably an awful thing to say, but Steve’s always been just a little bad (okay, a lot) at comfort. He tends to, well, speak his mind a little too plainly, when maybe he should just be murmuring sweet nothings. But he’s definitely not in a sweet nothings mood, hearing that. 

When Steve reaches out, Bucky doesn’t hesitate to slide his hand into his, curling his fingers around Steve’s. “Me too,” he admits, voice quiet. “He was nice in the beginning. Hell, he was one of the people who helped rescue me from whoever had me. But once I was out of the hospital, it was like he was a different person entirely.” He feels a little weird, telling Steve about his ex-boyfriend, but in another way, it feels like it’s still part of the conversation they need to have. 

Because he’s not stupid. Steve is _Captain America._ And he’s pretty sure that in whatever capacity he and Brock work together, Steve is his CO. He knows what happened tonight is going to have consequences for Brock that he probably hadn’t seen coming. Probably still doesn’t. 

“Most of the time it felt like he hated me. He was in rut when he bit me. Tried to say it wasn’t his fault. That he couldn’t control himself. I told him he was full of shit. It’s not that hard to keep your damned teeth to yourself. Tonight he said it wasn’t about wanting to be with someone long-term, it was about him putting me in my place.” There’s bitterness in Bucky’s voice. 

There’s definitely something in Steve, ruffled the wrong way, that calms a little when Bucky takes his hand, even if nothing Bucky really says next does the person Steve’s livid with any favors. “Your place is wherever you want it to be, and no one gets to decide that but you,” he says, lowly, but it’s clear the anger is directed at Brock, and maybe every other alpha who’s ever thought that way, said something like that to Steve or any omega at all, and not at Bucky. Steve’s never had a real, full rut, but even having had the strange half-rut he’d fallen into one time on the front lines, because the SSR doctors had been playing with his suppressant dosage ever since he’d emerged from that capsule a super soldier alpha, he’d felt the need to _claim_ but not… like that. It was more like a need to tie someone to you, so they could never leave you, because you simply didn’t know who you were without them. But Peggy had laughed at him -- gently -- and told him that was probably as much because of the soul bond as his budding alpha hormones, so really, the whole situation was sort of a muddled blur in his head. 

The whole point being, though, that it had never been about control or about putting someone in their place. It had been about making _his_ place the place next to the person he loved. 

Something about how fired up Steve is over the way omegas are treated goes a long, long way toward soothing away the anger and bitterness that Bucky’s felt building inside of him for months. He wants to crawl into his lap, wrap his arms around Steve’s neck and just _hold on_ for hours. He’s not sure the attitude Steve has is a common one for alphas -- in fact he’s pretty sure it isn’t. “If there were more alphas like you, the world would be a hell of a lot better place, Rogers,” he says, voice rough. “For the record.” 

“I went my whole life with people telling me what to do and how to do it, and mostly to do _less_ of it,” Steve murmurs softly. “I just want to be the kind of alpha -- the kind of person -- who doesn’t do that, because it’s bullshit.” 

Although speaking of that kind of person, “Brock’s never been a… forward-thinking kinda guy,” Steve finally settles on. “But there’s a difference between just being a jerk, and worming your way into someone’s life by pretending you’re _not_ a jerk, and to me, the latter says that you _know_ what you’re doing is wrong, and you’re choosing to do it anyway, because you know enough to play a different part.” He doesn’t know if that makes sense to anyone but him, but all that matters is that he is maybe going to _enjoy_ dealing with Brock the next chance he gets, even if he’s also really not. 

Bucky considers Steve’s words about Brock, pressing his lips together. “I missed a lot of signs,” he admits quietly. “Maybe I saw them and just ignored them because I was scared of bein’ alone or...maybe I just didn’t care, I don’t know. Guess what they say about hindsight’s cliche for a reason.” Because it’s true. 

“It wasn’t on you to see all the signs,” Steve insists. “Hindsight is perfect, but… that’s not the way the world should work, y’know? And what matters is you did see them. You did get out. Just because he’s an idiot with no respect for anybody else… that’s something he’s gonna be learning, very soon.” Because that, at least, he can promise. 

But then Steve frowns, leaning forward a little. “I didn’t see any blood on your shirt. He didn’t break skin, I don’t think. This time?” 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck absently. “I don’t think he did, either. But…” He looks at him nervously. “Can you check? Just in case? Please.” His voice drops again. 

Something in Steve’s stomach swoops weirdly, that same stepped-off-a-cliff feeling he’s gotten around Bucky before, simply to know that he trusts Steve, feels comfortable enough around him, to turn around and bare his neck to someone he knows is an alpha, when he’s feeling so very vulnerable. Steve’s pretty sure his face is doing something sappy and complicated, but he ignores it and nods, squeezing Bucky’s fingers before sliding his hand away and resting it on his good shoulder instead, not grabbing or turning him, just letting him know that Steve’s ready when he is. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I’ll check. But if it didn’t take before… it won’t take now, Buck. I promise.” 

Not that it’s a promise he can make or keep, but there it is, anyway. 

Bucky sees the complicated emotions flickering over Steve’s face when he asks him to look at his neck, though, and he reaches up, cupping his cheek in his hand momentarily, leaning in and pressing a kiss against his forehead before drawing in a breath and shifting positions on the couch so that Steve can see his neck. He ducks his head to make it easier, chewing his lower lip anxiously. Not because he’s nervous about having his back to Steve, but because he doesn’t want _any_ chance of being stuck with a bond to Brock Rumlow. Not in a million years. 

Steve’s prepared to just get on with it, to not make it a big deal. But then Bucky seems to notice the expression on his big dumb face and the way he draws Steve in, the way his warm, soft lips touch his forehead… it’s not absolution, exactly, but it feels a little like it. And it makes Steve breathe out a slow, shaky breath, before he nods and shifts to let Bucky turn, reaching up carefully to push the neckline of his t-shirt out of the way, seeing clearly the older, healed-over bite where Brock must have tried to make it take before, but that’s all he can see. It doesn’t look like Brock got very far at all this time.

Bucky knows they need to discuss what’s going to happen with Brock, but right now he just wants to make absolute certain that he’s not stuck with him for the rest of his life, however long or short that might turn out to be. He closes his eyes as Steve moves closer behind him, checking for him because he can’t do it for himself. He feels the other man’s warm breath against his neck, and the sensation it produces is entirely different from how he’d felt earlier this evening, feeling _Brock’s_ breath against his skin. 

Steve’s about to give Bucky the all clear when he frowns and leans in a little more. He moves slowly, cautiously, trying to determine if the redness he’s seeing is bruising or flushing or even just discoloration of the skin from before, and that’s when he sees the small, pointed mark at the edge of Bucky’s hairline, where you could maybe miss it or mistake it for a birthmark if you didn’t know better. 

But oh, God. Steve knows better. Steve knows the exact shape, the exact size, the exact not-quite-raised, not-quite-smooth feel of that mark under his fingertips. Under his lips. 

It’s exactly the same mark Peggy had, in exactly the same place along her hairline. The one she’d showed Steve only after he’d gone through a top-to-toes exam before being accepted into the pool of candidates for Rebirth, because she’d seen exactly the same mark noted on him. The mark that had tied them together, even after he’d gone through the transformation, the reason they had to hide what they were to each other, never had the chance to really do more than try, desperately, to catch a few moments alone with each other, where no one could see or hear. 

A little shiver runs through Bucky involuntarily as he feels Steve’s fingers trail lightly over his skin. His heart is beating quickly in his chest, and Steve’s not _saying_ anything and oh god, what if they’d both been wrong? What if Brock had broken skin and it had simply taken this time? He’s doing his best to control his nerves, to sit perfectly still on the couch, right hand gripping tightly on his knee even while his left dangles. 

Steve realizes he’s been quiet for far, far too long. “Buck,” he breathes, realizing he’s probably making things worse, sitting there and staring. He swallows, his throat suddenly dry, before he at least has the decency to lead with, “He didn’t break skin. Everything’s fine.” 

But then, “You --” Steve pauses, then tries again. “You, uh, you know you’ve got a star back here?” 

Bucky’s two seconds away from pleading with Steve to say _something_ when he utters the nickname that Bucky loves hearing, because it’s Steve saying it. He shudders again, this time with relief, dropping his head forward and exhaling a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. 

His eyebrows furrow a bit at the next question, though. “Yeah. It’s -- a weird birthmark,” he explains. Most of the time he forgets it’s even there. He can’t _see_ it even if he can kind of feel it, if he’s trying. His mom and Becca used to tease him, telling him it was a soulmate mark. But those only exist in movies and fairytales. It’s not real life. 

Steve laughs, but it’s a faint, sort of weak, sort of bowled-over sound. “It’s not a birthmark,” he says, realizing he’s already started to reach out to touch it and pulling his hand back, fingers curling into his palm so he won’t do it again without permission. He shifts back a little, because saying this to the back of Bucky’s neck, as appealing as that might be for Steve’s nerves, is not the right thing to do. 

He feels like he’s already asked a lot of Bucky tonight -- asked him to accept that he’s not exactly the guy Bucky thought he was, asked him to accept that he wasn’t always an alpha, but an omega. Bucky’s taken all of it pretty well, considering, and Steve lo-- 

Yeah. Steve loves him for it. That’s the feeling. He knows it has been, for a while, and now he knows why. 

Part of him is a little furious, because it feels like the soul mark has already decided things for them. It’s reeled him in, knocked him head over heels, before he even knew what was going on. And that’s the way it was with Peggy, too. But part of him isn’t sure whether it’s the mark, the bond, or just the fact that Peggy -- and now Bucky -- simply are the right match for him. Because it didn’t take anything to love them. It just was, from the moment they met, because the more he learned about them, the more he found to love. 

It doesn’t matter, just now; the outcome is the same, and he pushes at Bucky’s shoulder gently, coaxing him to turn around. _This_ , suddenly feels terrifying to him. Bucky hadn’t wanted to be tied to anyone. Now Steve has to explain that he… sort of is. 

Soulmate bonds aren’t like mating bonds. Everyone knows that -- people without them, and most people _don’t_ have them, can form a mating bond with anyone, and it doesn’t necessarily need to be mutual. But soulmates… soulmates can only bond with each other. A mating bond is something that has to be done. A soulmate bond is something that happens _to_ you, and you can ignore it, sure. But it will always be there. 

Bucky shifts carefully on the sofa when he feels Steve touch his shoulder, feels the light squeeze and he’s pretty sure Steve is urging him to turn around. He does, eyebrows still furrowed, trying to work out what the hell he’s talking about. Of _course_ it’s a birthmark. He’s had it since he was born, it’s not like someone branded him with it at some point. What else could it be? 

He sees that Steve is struggling with whatever it is he’s trying to say and he reaches out, lays a hand on his knee, a gesture meant to comfort and reassure. It doesn’t occur to him that he should ask first, this time, it just _feels_ like the right thing to do. 

“Brock can bite you as many times as he wants -- not that he’s ever going to get the chance again -- and it won’t take, Buck. That’s a soulmark.” Steve’s lips flicker up into a nervous smile. 

Bucky almost laughs at Steve’s words. He’s surprised that Steve has fallen for the whole soulmark/soulmates myth. He just doesn’t seem like the kind of person to invest in that kind of thing. Then again, maybe he has more of a reason to than most. He is, after all, Captain America. Someone who has _actual_ superpowers, which also aren’t technically supposed to be real. 

But there’s something in that nervous little smile of Steve’s that makes Bucky’s heartbeat a little bit faster, because Steve definitely _looks_ like he believes what he’s saying. “Steve...come on,” he says softly. “That’s - it’s not a real thing. Right?” No one he’s ever known has had a soulmark. “It’s just a legend. A myth?” But Bucky’s suddenly not feeling nearly as sure about that as he was just a few minutes ago. 

“It’s not,” Steve says, maybe a little weakly, when Bucky says it has to be just a legend, a myth. Yeah, that’s what he’d always thought, too, until the day he’d met Peggy Carter. And now, he’s wondering how on Earth he could have missed the signs, himself, the day he’d met Bucky Barnes. It had felt so similar -- but most people _didn’t_ have soulmarks, and the chances of matching with not one, but _two_ is beyond astronomical. It’s inconceivable. And Steve, as he’s admitted before, has a really strange rubric for that kind of thing. 

Which is why maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. “I -- have one. The same one. If you want to see.” 

Bucky’s eyes are wide as he stares at Steve, trying to figure out if he’s just messing with him. But he’s not joking. Especially when Steve tells him that he has the same mark and offers to show it to him.

“Show me?” Bucky’s voice is barely a whisper. 

Steve just nods, taking his turn shifting on the couch, turning his back to Bucky and hunching over before reaching up with one hand and pointing to the spot just along his hairline, behind his ear, where the mark is marginally easier to see than Bucky’s, but you still have to know what you’re looking for. He’s had his hair cut to hide it -- never had to worry about it in the forties, because the cuts naturally hid it, but now with the short sides and back, it’s a bit easier to see, peeking out from the blonde. 

“See? It’s the same.” And here’s where Steve really needs to be completely honest, divulge his very last secret, which isn’t so much a secret as something he’d just deemed not really important, anymore: “There’s someone else with it, too, but there’s no way you’d ever meet her.” He doesn’t even know if Peggy and Bucky would be soulmates, too -- he guesses they would, with the same compatible mark, somehow. 

Bucky’s mind reels as he stares at the mark behind Steve’s ear, holding his breath and reaching up to touch the mark on his own neck. He wonders if he’s asleep and dreaming all of this because it’s insane. It makes zero sense. Zero. And when Steve says there’s one more person on the planet with the same exact mark, something tugs at the back of his mind. He has to close his eyes to remember the name he’d learned so long ago. 

“Peggy Carter,” he whispers, shock flooding him. Peggy Carter, with the SSR, who’d helped form the agency called SHIELD. There’d been rumors that she’d named it that because of Captain America’s prominent, most used weapon: his shield. “But --” But Peggy had been an alpha, too. All the history books said so. 

He remembers Steve’s comment, that he wouldn’t care if he and Bucky were both alphas, regardless of how society felt about that. His mouth goes dry. “It’s her, right?” 

Steve’s stomach turns a little cold when Bucky gets it right on the nose; “Yeah,” he says, voice a hoarse whisper, like saying it too loudly will let the information pass out of this room, get into the wrong hands, hurt Peggy. They had been _so_ careful, but he’d lived life under a microscope (a bit figuratively and literally) after the serum, and there had been rumors even back then. It’s a big part of why they’d never bonded -- a mating bite would have told the world, and it wasn’t something they could do, or risk. Not when Peggy had worked so hard to get where she was. Steve wasn’t going to invalidate all of that after everything she’d done for him. He loved her far too much to do that. He _respected_ her far too much. 

As though sensing Steve’s worry, Bucky lays a hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm. “I don’t think the general public had any idea, if that helps,” he whispers, mind swirling with so many thoughts it’s hard to grab onto any single one. He knows Peggy Carter is still alive, even if she’s in her late nineties by now. Bucky forces himself to draw in a slow, deep breath, trying not to get stuck on the fact that if they _all_ have the same mark, it means that Peggy is _his_ soulmate, too. It’s too much to wrap his brain around right now, so he pushes it aside quickly, focusing on Steve. 

“She’s -- she got married, after. She mated with someone else,” Steve goes on. Because of course she did, Steve had been _dead_ , it’s not like he can blame her. He’s happy for her. She’s had an amazing life, has an amazing family, even if he’s never really met them. 

A soft, sad noise escapes Bucky when Steve admits she’d moved on, married someone else. She’d believed he was dead. And no one really wants to be alone forever, do they? Still, his heart hurts for Steve and he rests his forehead against his shoulder blade for a moment, listening to the sound of his breathing. 

The press of Bucky’s forehead against Steve’s shoulder feels good; it feels grounding, comforting, thawing the cold lump in the pit of his stomach, like maybe Bucky understands, just a little. Even if it’s a lot to wrap your head around. 

“So I figured… she found a way to move on. I should, too, right?” Steve ends up laughing again, because, “I’m not actually sure this counts.” It’s all so ridiculous, if he thinks about it too hard. And it has already been a long, strange night. “Is it moving on if you’re my soulmate, too?” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “I don’t know if it counts or what it means or...anything. I’ve never known anyone with a soulmark before. My mom and Becca -- they used to tease me that that’s what it was. That I’d be the equivalent of a fucking Disney prince or something.” He huffs out a laugh that’s strained at best. “I never thought any of it was real.” 

This time, when Steve laughs, there is actual bemusement behind it. “They should’ve named you Charming, then,” he points out, reaching back and around to rest his hand on Bucky’s thigh, just to touch, to ground Bucky the same way Bucky is grounding him, hopefully offer a little comfort right back. 

“I thought it was real,” he admits, because his ma had been plenty superstitious, before she’d died, and she’d of course spotted the mark the second he was born, and he’d grown up hearing stories from her, most of which probably _were_ myth and legend. “But I thought… I didn’t think it was for me, anyway. I was gonna die before I hit thirty, probably. I told myself if I found my soulmate, I wouldn’t saddle them with that.”

Bucky relaxes beneath the weight of Steve’s hand on his leg, and he rests his own hand over it, keeping his forehead pressed against Steve’s back. “Because you were sick a lot growing up. Right?” His voice is hushed. History has never been his best subject, and he can’t say he’d ever had a particular interest in Captain America or his background before becoming Captain America, but sometimes certain details stick out in his mind. 

“That’s part of why you wanted to undergo Project Rebirth?” he guesses, because it makes sense. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance of being healed, at being _whole_ if they had that kind of opportunity staring them in the face? 

“Yeah, I was sick a lot. I guess that was part of it,” Steve admits, but… “Honestly? I just thought, if I was gonna die young, I wanted to die _for_ something. But I couldn’t enlist because I was an omega. I tried anyway, but it didn’t work, even when they were taking nearly anybody and weren’t looking too closely at your paperwork.” Maybe if he’d been a healthy omega, it might have worked. He can imagine that no few omegas slipped in that way, because they’d needed bodies, the longer the war went on. 

But not Steve’s. “Part of me didn’t think the serum would work, but if it was gonna kill someone, I was a better guinea pig than someone who could’ve served, anyway. And if it worked… well, yeah. Being healthy is kinda great.”

“But then I actually _met_ Peggy.” He laughs again. “She was amazing, and I knew it within five minutes. I felt the same with you.” That seems important to say. “I was probably stupid not to realize why.” 

Bucky closes his eyes when Steve talks about how he’d basically volunteered to _sacrifice_ himself and he exhales, moving his hand away from Steve’s and winding his right arm around his torso instead. He wants to slide his left arm around him, too, but his shoulder’s still aching too much to attempt it. “I’m glad you lived,” he murmurs. It doesn’t even adequately describe his feelings, that simple statement. “I’m sorry it didn’t go the way you wanted with everything...but, Steve. I’m so, so glad you’re alive.” He tightens his arm around him a fraction.

But he can’t ignore the way Steve’s voice goes a little softer each time he says Peggy’s name, reverent, and he chews his lower lip, because Peggy _sounds_ amazing, and Bucky’s not sure how he’s possibly going to stack up against her. Though, Steve’s words that he’d felt the same when he’d met Bucky help some. “Probably weren’t expecting to find another soulmate,” he remarks. “That’s not something that happens much, even in fiction.” 

“You lived, too,” Steve points out, softly, fingers, curling gently into the soft fabric of Bucky’s sweatpants. “You went through… God, I didn’t even know what you went through. But I’m glad you came out on the other end. I’m glad you were there that day, and I’m really, really glad my stupid phone got me lost.” They could have just as easily never met, and suddenly, that thought feels jagged, like having his whole world ripped away _again_. He hasn’t always been glad he survived. Acclimating to the future is weird and hard and lonely. Or, it had been. He hasn’t actually felt unhappy that he survived _or_ lonely at all, since Bucky had singled him out on the street and laid one on him. 

That’s the thing, though -- it’s not a comparison, there’s simply no way to compare. Steve feels the same way about Bucky that he did -- does -- for Peggy, and he can’t pretend that he hadn’t been worried about mentioning her at all, even before finding Bucky’s soulmark, because admitting to someone that you had, technically _have_ , a soulmate, even one you’re not with, is just… well, is that even a thing that anyone else has ever had to do? Probably, but he can’t imagine the situation turned out well. 

In the end, no, Peggy isn’t Bucky and vice versa, but Steve wouldn’t want them to be exactly the same. He loves Bucky for the things that make him Bucky, and he is maybe a little worried that it’s going to seem like a game of favorites, and he’s not sure how to explain that it’s not. Maybe… if he does take Bucky to meet Peggy. Maybe he’d see, but -- is that fair, either? Is it fair to introduce them, when Peggy’s over ninety (well, technically Steve is, too, but it’s different) and has her good days and her bad ones? Is it fair to introduce people who might be soulmates in that kind of a situation? 

He suddenly can’t stand to have his back to Bucky anymore, for all that it still feels good to have Bucky touching him, pressed close behind him. He starts to shift, telegraphing his motions, reaching up to thread his fingers through Bucky’s right hand so they can stay linked as Steve scoots around to face Bucky on the couch, one leg tucked up underneath him and his other hand resting on Bucky’s leg, still a little hesitant to grab him around the shoulders, just in case it’s not a good feeling right now, mentally or physically. It felt good to Steve, but he doesn’t want Bucky to feel trapped after what happened with Brock. 

“I never thought I’d find one soulmate, let alone _two_. But I didn’t know, before, and I still fell head over heels for you, Buck. Don’t think this means -- I don’t know. I think I’m explaining badly. I just knew you were someone I wanted to spend more time with, the instant we met.” 

Bucky finds himself holding his breath as Steve turns around, their hands linked together. He’s quiet for a moment, lost in thought. “I think I get what you’re saying, though. It’s been the same for me.” He hesitates. “That first day. There were dozens of people around but when I saw you -- it’s like they all faded out of my line of sight. Like you were the only person around.” He’s never really been a romantic type, aside from his love for music and literature, maybe, and that probably should have been some kind of sign to him. “And I didn’t even think this soulmark stuff was real. It was just...like I was drawn to you.” 

He draws in a slow breath. “And every time I’ve seen you since, it’s -- “ His eyebrows furrow as he tries to come up with the words to explain. “I feel more myself? I feel…” His teeth gnaw on his lower lip. “Like every time I see you is the best moment of my life.” His voice is barely audible, but he knows Steve can hear him. 

“It’s like that for me, too,” Steve insists. “I don’t care if it’s a soulbond or just really good chemistry,” he laughs. “I want it, and I want it for you. If you wanna… go steady? Is that still a thing people do?” He has admittedly not had occasion to ask. And he is _not_ asking Natasha. “Are we already doing that?” 

Bucky can’t help but smile at the words _go steady._ “I don’t know if that’s what it’s called these days,” he tells him. “But… yeah. In my mind, that’s what we’re doing. It’s -- that we’re not married or bonded, but… dating?” He’s not sure, because _dating_ doesn’t really come close to how he feels about this thing between them. “Exclusive, maybe?” 

“I guess as long as we’re both on the same page, it doesn’t matter what it’s called,” Steve admits, feeling a little sheepish, but he doesn’t mind because Bucky’s smiling at him, and it’s honestly like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Exclusive, definitely. You’re the first person I’ve even wanted to date this century.” So there is definitely that. 

Bucky glances down at the hand Steve has on his knee and he suddenly remembers the hug they’d shared in his kitchen a few days ago, and his skin _aches_ for that. He looks up at Steve once more, shifting restlessly on the couch. “Steve, can we…?” 

Steve frowns a little when Bucky starts squirming though, squeezing his hand a little and, “Yeah -- yeah, what do you want?” He desperately wants to put his arms around Bucky, but he also doesn’t want to do something he won’t like or feel comfortable with. It’s not that Bucky being an omega actually changes anything, because it doesn’t. But it does mean that Steve can guess, all the better, how he’s been treated since it happened, how he’s _felt_ since it happened, and he only wants to make sure that what he wants is what Bucky wants, too, rather than forcing it on him. He’d felt like he was just getting comfortable with that, with learning which touches he could just take or give without asking, and then this whole mess had happened. 

But he can learn all over again. Or pick up where they left off. He just wants to know where the line is, if it’s still in the same place, or if it needs to move. 

Bucky returns the gentle squeeze on his hand and then shifts to move closer, almost in Steve’s lap as he tugs his right hand away and winds his arm around him again, burying his face against his shoulder and exhaling. 

Steve goes essentially pliant for a moment, leaving his posture open so Bucky can show him what he wants. It ends up being pretty much perfect for Steve, whose body definitely goes lax as Bucky presses up against him. He gives it a moment, then easily slides his arms to lock loosely around Bucky’s waist, thumbs drifting absently over the soft fabric of his shirt at the small of his back. If Bucky wants to be this close, is comfortable being this close… God, Steve just wants to wrap around him like an octopus so nothing can ever touch him again, even if that’s stupid because he knows Bucky isn’t _helpless_. The whole thing with Brock had just pushed all the wrong buttons. It definitely doesn’t make Bucky weak; in Steve’s eyes, it just makes him stronger. 

But he maybe still likes the way Bucky’s nose is pressed into his skin, and if he drops his head to rest his cheek against Bucky’s hair and breathe in the way it smells… he could probably be forgiven. It makes him feel much more grounded, at any rate. More like himself, like Bucky said. 

Bucky almost sighs with relief when Steve’s arms come up and around him, because for a while today he’d been sure he’d never have this again. Not with Steve. And that thought is so unacceptable he almost whimpers, but he bites it back, sure that Steve can _feel_ how much better he feels just being enfolded like this. He tightens his arm around Steve, as well, pressing a kiss against his shoulder absently. 

He’s not used to the almost constant need for contact. It’s not something he remembers feeling before, when he’d been a beta. He’s read a lot on how omegas tend to crave touch, and specifically from their alpha once they’ve bonded. He’s read horror stories, in fact, on what can happen if that need isn’t met. He’s never been sure if any of that was real, either, or if it’s just an old wives’ tale. 

“Can I ask you something? About...how it was for you, before Rebirth?” Bucky’s voice is hushed. 

“Hm? Yeah,” Steve murmurs, voice quiet, too, to match Bucky’s. “Yeah, you can ask me anything. I think I just upped your clearance level as high as it can go,” he teases gently, but it’s true. He trusts Bucky. Anything about Steve’s past, even the classified stuff, he’ll tell him. 

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh at the words, though, because Steve’s got a point. He also knows he’ll never utter a word that Steve’s told him to anyone else as long as he lives. He’ll keep Steve’s secrets safe for eternity. 

“When you were an omega… did you crave touch?” he asks, keeping his head against Steve’s shoulder, rubbing his back absently. 

That is… not actually the question Steve expected, oddly enough. He isn’t sure what he had expected, but maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. He had offered Bucky perspective on the whole being an omega thing, after all. 

But then again, Steve knows he wasn’t exactly a model omega, either. “I think I did, yeah,” he decides quietly, after a moment, eyes fluttering at the touches he’s getting now -- and sort of putting the question to what he hopes is practical use, hitching his arms up a little around Bucky’s middle so he can brush his thumbs over a broader expanse of his back. “I think I did, but I didn’t know it was what I wanted?” he adds, and the knows he has to explain: “I got into a lot of fights. A _lot_ of fights. My ma, when she was still around, and then the sisters at the orphanage, all of them said I must like getting punched, I did it so much. I know it sounds stupid, but I think maybe they were right. I was on my own a lot, and no one _wanted_ to touch me, and I thought I didn’t need them to, besides, if they were just going to be mean or pitying about it. But there was always something…” he shrugs a little, arms sliding up and down Bucky’s waist as he does, careful not to dislodge Bucky’s lips or his hands. “I always felt itchy. Like I needed something and I didn’t know what it was. Could just be some medical thing no one could ever put a finger on,” he has to allow. “But maybe that was it, too.” 

Bucky frowns deeply at the thought of the only touch _Steve_ getting as a young omega being through violence. It’s unsettling, at least, and upsetting, at best. And he can’t change the way it had been for him, obviously, because as far as he knows, time travel doesn’t exist. But it does make him hug him a little tighter. “Itchy’s -- that’s a pretty good description. Like there’s something beneath your skin and you can’t get rid of the feeling and you just...find yourself alphabetizing books ‘til eight at night.” There’s a hint of wryness to his voice, but even as he says it, he knows that factors into his anxiety. Well, that’s going to be a problem. 

Steve chuckles softly when Bucky mentions alphabetizing books, remembering the night he’d shown up long after the shop was supposed to be closed (not that he’d known) and finding Bucky doing just that. It makes him tighten his own grip a little, like he really could convince Bucky to just crawl up against him and plaster them together so they’d never have to separate. 

He hunches a little closer over Bucky and figures he might as well ask, instead of assuming: “You feel like you want to be touched a lot more, now?” Bucky had said he hadn’t wanted to be alone, that maybe he’d latched onto Brock because he was there and offered that. It makes Steve angrier still at Brock, but feel all the worse for Bucky. 

Bucky smiles a little at Steve’s chuckle, knowing Steve knows exactly what he’s referring to. But, “Yes,” he admits quietly. “It’s... a weird feeling. I never used to feel like this,” he confesses. He thinks back on some of the insults Brock had slung his way, especially after sex, when he’d craved the prolonged skin to skin contact from cuddling. _Fucking needy omega,_ he’d muttered more than once, clearly annoyed.

Shit. Maybe he’d actually been _right_ about something. 

Steve hadn’t had it so bad while his ma was alive -- she’d been as loving as a mother could be, before she’d died. And after… yeah. He’d been a lot more prickly and standoffish, and if some of that was because of a lack of touch, well, it made some bit of sense. Even if some of that had just been him. 

And honestly, it can’t be just an omega thing, he thinks. Every time he’s around Bucky, he wants to attach them at the hip, put his hands or his mouth all over him, but not necessarily just because he’s hot and bothered. It’s more about being together. Staying together. Just touching to touch, not for a specific purpose. 

“Does this help?” he asks, nudging his cheek a little harder into Bucky’s hair. “It feels good to me, too.” He’s certainly not put out. “I could learn to be an octopus. But I don’t know that I’ve got a better solution. It might level out. It’s… kinda like you hit puberty all at once, when it happened, right? That’s what Peggy told me I was like.” 

Bucky hums his affirmation against Steve’s shoulder, nodding. “It helps a lot,” he admits. He wonders if Steve is an exception to what he’d come to assume was the rule with alphas: that they _don’t_ particularly want or need touch that isn’t just sexual. Then again, maybe that’s just _Brock._

“I didn’t mind touch before,” he says after a moment. “It just... wasn’t as big a deal I guess?” Mostly he hadn’t thought about it. He and Becca would hug a lot growing up together, and his mom had always been affectionate, even if not _overly_ so. Then later, with others, it wasn’t unusual to give or get a hand on the arm occasionally. “I don’t know, I guess until I was suddenly an omega, I never thought needing it was a real thing, either.” 

“It’s harder to understand something when you’ve never felt it yourself,” Steve concedes. “Maybe that’s half the problem with things. It takes extra effort to put yourself in someone else’s shoes.” But that extra effort is well worth it, and he’s always believed that. Shitty laws born out of laziness are still shitty laws. “And the other half is probably the fact that people think _different_ means _lesser_ , not just, you know, _different_.” 

Just because omegas need different things doesn’t make them weak. It’s not wrong to want something, like to be touched. It’s wrong to think someone is worth less than you because they want it. 

It sort of brings him back to that mission, to what Natasha told him, to the idea that people could be changed, on a large scale. He can see the appeal. He can. But it’s still _wrong_. What happened to Bucky was _wrong_ , and he has every right to be angry and unhappy about it. Part of him wonders if there isn’t a way to change him back, in all of this -- to fix it, if he wants that option. But that kind of classified information isn’t Steve’s to share. He has to keep it to himself for now. 

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Bucky agrees quietly. He’d never been the type to see omegas as lesser even before he’d been one. He’d like to think he’d done a good job at treating everyone pretty equally, even if the world overall had signaled that it was okay to treat people differently based upon their designation. Even when his dad had made disparaging remarks about omegas -- male omegas, specifically -- and their lack of use in society, long before Bucky had ever been changed. Needless to say, his dad had been dismayed to learn his only son had become one of those useless omegas. 

But it’s still different from experiencing something firsthand. “People don’t wanna talk about it. Don’t wanna see that there’s more than one way of thinking and treating people.” He sighs quietly, content to just keep his arm wrapped around Steve and be held in return. 

“So. What’s being a beta like?” Steve ends up asking, even though he knows it’s probably a weird question. He kind of went from one extreme to the other; betas are supposed to be more balanced, to provide balance. He wonders if it was just… calm, being like that. Or if it had its own set of problems. 

“It’s kinda like... there’s almost an expectation that we’re the go-to people to discuss personal problems with. Or to fix their problems. Or to play peacemaker,” Bucky muses. 

“I guess that makes sense,” Steve hums -- if they’re supposed to be neutral, then of course people would turn to betas for advice, as a sounding board. Which probably got old pretty fast. 

Bucky goes on. “People tend to forget betas have their own lives and troubles just the same as alphas and omegas. It’s not really any better or worse than being an omega, just... the way people treat you is different. I know you know that, though.” Steve’s already said as much. 

Steve nods, knowing Bucky will feel the motion even if he can’t see it. “I know there are stereotypes for a reason, and different kinds of people have different strengths, but that shouldn’t be the end-all of it.” 

“Is it a lot different now as an alpha? In how you feel?” Bucky asks. 

“I feel mostly the same, except I think I want touch… differently? Like -- if omegas want to be held, then alphas want to do the holding. It’s different, but not different. And I still like it when you hold me.” Bucky’s arms around him make him feel good, feel wanted, feel safe and secure and _grounded_ , like he knows where to come back to. 

“I don’t know if all alphas feel like that, but it is different from how I felt before. I think I was always happy to yell at someone being a jerk, though.” 

“I can kinda picture it. You yelling at assholes growing up. Fighting the injustices however you could.” With words or fists. It makes Bucky smile just a little. 

“It is different, though,” Steve goes on, trying to answer the question as fully as he can. “But sometimes it’s hard to put my finger on how.” Steve lets out a soft little snort. “I’ve been on suppressants the whole time, though. Pretty much since day one, but they have to keep tweaking the dose. I haven’t had a real rut, but I never really had a full, real heat before, either.” He was too sick, his hormones too out of whack. 

Bucky pauses at the mention of suppressants, chewing his lower lip momentarily, then pulls back just enough that he can look at him, eyes dark, serious. “I’ve been taking them, too,” he admits, voice barely a whisper. “I’ve never had a heat. Or a rut, obviously. Since betas don’t have either.” He searches Steve’s eyes. “If it happens -- if they don’t work at some point for you…” He tilts his head to the side a little. “I’ll help you handle it. If you want.” 

It’s not an offer he makes lightly. Brock hadn’t _asked_ , he’d just expected it, and Bucky had felt obligated. Gone along with it. He’d craved the closeness so badly, he’d taken it anyway he could get it. But with Steve, it’s entirely different. He already knows if Steve ever turns up on his door in rut, he’ll take care of him, no questions asked. He _wants_ to. 

“Buck,” Steve breathes, searching Bucky’s face. “That’s a… a big offer.” He doesn’t want to belittle it, and he’s pretty sure Bucky must know what he’s asking, but he actually isn’t sure that he does. “I say I never had one, but… I kinda did. Once. It was on the front lines, and it was _really_ inconvenient.” He’s kind of turning red just thinking about it. “Peggy tried to help, but everybody knows alphas can’t really calm a rut in another alpha.” 

Of course, she’d also told him, after sitting with him in a tiny bombed-out cottage while he paced and rocked and sweated his way through every layer of clothing he had on in the below-freezing weather and tried to get her to leave so he could have some privacy to _take care of himself_ when he got too wound up, that he wasn’t even in full rut. If that wasn’t full rut, then God, he didn’t want to know what it would be like. “It only lasted about a day. It never really hit all the way.” Somehow, someone had scrounged together suppressants from enough dead or captured soldiers that downing more doses than was probably safe had cut the thing short before it ever really got started. 

Still; “If it happens… I’ll tell you, and we can decide together if it’s something I need help with, or that I should ride out on my own.” He doesn’t want to risk hurting Bucky, doesn’t want to risk turning into someone like Brock. He doesn’t think he would, but he doesn’t know for sure that he wouldn’t. 

Bucky listens, watching Steve’s expression as he talks about his one experience having a rut. He’s sure it must have been a miserable experience, especially if Peggy hadn’t really been able to help him through it. He lifts his right hand, curling it around the back of Steve’s neck, and nods slowly. He doesn’t for one second really think that even in a _rut_ that Steve would hurt him, or even act like Brock Rumlow. 

“But I -- you have no idea how much I appreciate the offer,” Steve adds. “And you _know_ I’ll help with a heat. If you get one. If you want help.” 

But the thing is, “Aren’t suppressants still illegal for omegas?” He certainly doesn’t sound like he cares that Bucky is taking them if they are. Except that illegal also means unregulated, and that’s more what he’s concerned with. 

Bucky’s not at all surprised when Steve returns the offer if Bucky ever has a heat. Which, with any luck, he won’t. He does drop his gaze at the question, though. “Yeah. They are,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. There are some less than pleasant side effects, and some days are worse than others with said side effects. But he’s been all too aware that if he’d gone into heat, Brock would probably have just laughed at him. And there hadn’t been anyone else that could have helped. 

“But...it saves a lot of trouble.” He presses his lips together and lifts his gaze to meet Steve’s once more. “I don’t even know what I’d do with the store if it happened. I have a part time employee, but she’s pretty much evenings and Saturdays only. Can’t afford to pay anyone else. And if anyone realized that’s why I wasn’t running things…” He exhales. 

“Right,” Steve agrees, on an exhale. “It’s not -- you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He is definitely of the opinion that if alphas can use suppressants, then so should omegas. But, of course, that’s not how the law sees it -- if you’re not allowed to own a business or be a major breadwinner, then what’s the harm, really, of needing to take a few days off here or there? It’s ridiculous. “I’d offer to help, but I kinda have another job that I can’t really say no to,” he says, a little wryly. 

“I know.” Bucky draws in a breath. He offers him a smile, small and soft. “Well, your job is apparently helping save the world kind, so...I suppose I’ll let you off the hook this time.” He squeezes Steve’s neck gently with his hand. 

Besides, Steve thinks -- Bucky shouldn’t have to ask for help. And more than that, growing up a beta, he can’t blame Bucky for not wanting a heat, period. You shouldn’t have to justify not wanting to get heats or ruts. You should just be able to choose. “They work okay, then? The suppressants. I never tried them when I was an omega, but plenty of people did.” And they were certainly illegal then, too. “Sometimes that didn’t work out so well.” 

“Sometimes the side effects suck,” Bucky tells him honestly. “But it’s not all the time. And so far they’ve done their job.” But he knows what Steve’s talking about. He’s done plenty of reading. He knows that being on them long term can do permanent damage. Can do even worse. He’s also read about just how bad a heat can be, without being bonded. 

Steve huffs a little laugh, but mostly he’s more interested in leaning back into Bucky’s touch. It feels good, honestly, the same way Bucky’s smile makes him feel good, but it’s hard to bask in it too long when Bucky admits that yeah, sometimes the suppressants have side effects. That’s not comforting to hear, even if he won’t question Bucky’s choice to take them. 

“I can see if I can get ahold of some stuff, if you think it might be better than what you’re taking,” he offers quietly. He isn’t sure how, but he can think of a few ways. Natasha, for one. Or he could just… probably go and buy some in a drugstore. He’s an alpha, after all. If he needs a prescription, he could probably manage that, too. 

“I love your laugh,” Bucky tells him, voice soft, eyes brighter for a moment. He gazes at him intently, considering the offer Steve’s making. He knows Steve probably has better, easier access to quality suppressants than he does. The supplier he’s been utilizing via the internet is up in Canada, and there’s _always_ a possibility that it’ll end up being seized in the postal service. And then he’ll end up getting arrested, probably. Plus, it’s not like he knows the supplier personally. Has no idea how the medication is processed. 

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky tells him. “It might be safer.” 

Steve nods. “But otherwise, just… be careful. I don’t blame you for not wanting a heat, but make sure the cure isn’t worse than the disease.” He leans in closer, rests his forehead against Bucky’s for a moment, even if it makes him go cross-eyed. “And in the meantime… I can touch you whenever you want?” 

It’s a little silly, and a little hopeful. But also a lot sincere. 

Bucky draws in a breath when Steve rests their foreheads together. He lets his eyes close. “I want you to touch me. Whenever you want,” he admits. “Whenever you’ve got the urge. And… if you want me to touch you, I can do that, too. I like touching you, Steve.” He strokes his fingers down the back of his neck, light and soft, keeping his forehead leaned against Steve’s. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees -- about the suppressants, and definitely about the touching. _Definitely_ the touching, because, “Yeah, I’m pretty much all fair game. For the touching. That feels good.” He slides a hand carefully up Bucky’s back, fingertips brushing the skin just above his collar when they get there, not quite the same motion, but the same idea. “If you don’t like something, though, you can tell me. I’m not Brock -- I only like it if you like it. Would’ve been true if you were an alpha or a beta, too.” It’s not just about being protective or being in charge. It’s about making sure they’re both on the same page and enjoying the same thing at the same time. 

Bucky shivers a little at the feel of Steve’s hand against his skin, and he smiles, expression softening at his words. “I know you’re not. You’re nothing like Brock, Steve.” He slides his hand around to cup his cheek. “And I get what you’re saying. If it’s not something we’re both enjoying, we don’t do it.” 

“Well, for the record, this is good,” Steve murmurs. Still, he blows out a breath, tilting his head to let his lips carefully brush the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “So, tonight was a… night. Can we try not to have any more of those? And I promise if you ever do want to go to a Stark, well, anything, I can probably get us in.” 

He knows it’s not why Bucky bailed on him. That’s why he can joke about it, and he hopes Bucky knows that, too. 

Bucky searches his eyes for a moment, then leans in and brushes a kiss against Steve’s mouth in return. “Agreed. And I’d definitely rather go with you.” One corner of his mouth turns up in a grin. “So yeah… does this mean at some point I’m going to get to meet your other Avenger friends?” He arches his eyebrows. 

Steve trades Bucky another soft kiss while he considers _that_ question. “I mean… I don’t see most of them that much, but sure. If you want.” He pulls back and cocks an eyebrow, playful. “Widow already knows about you. A little.” If you count her knowing that Steve was distracted by a person, and definitely being able to put two and two together. “Mostly because -- well, you know how that mission I was on when I had to cancel our first dinner went.” 

Bucky brushes his nose against Steve’s and presses another kiss against his lips before pausing. “Oh.” He considers that, what it might mean. “So she knows that… we were going to have a date and we had to reschedule because of the mission. And… my name?” he guesses, curious. 

“Aw, come on, give me a little credit. She knows I had you on my mind, and if she knew your name, _you’d_ know it, probably,” Steve laughs, but the truth is, he plays things pretty close to the vest, and not just with Rumlow and the STRIKE team. With pretty much everyone -- except Bucky, who’s managed to get more out of him (even in the form of confessions) than anyone in a long time. 

Bucky grins, a chuckle escaping him. “Meaning she’d show up here and check me out herself?” She sounds a little like Becca, actually. But he’s already trying not to laugh when he imagines Becca’s expression during a video chat with _Captain America._ Assuming she pays more attention to the news than he does and recognizes him. He’s pretty sure she does and she will. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Steve agrees. “She’d probably pretend she was interested in books and then end up asking all kinds of inappropriate questions. She’s been trying to set me up on dates for months.” But, if he’s being honest, Natasha had seemed pleased that he’d managed to find one on his own. 

And, definitely being honest now, Steve’s pretty pleased he did, too -- or, really, that one found him. 

“But I could tell her your name, if you wanted me to.” Something in him doesn’t want to keep this a secret -- not from Nat, and not from Strike. Maybe it is just that alpha part of him, wanting to stake a claim, and doesn’t that make him feel kind of like a barbarian. 

Bucky chuckles at the idea of one of the Avengers coming in to pretend to look at books, only to actually interrogate him because he’s dating Steve. Then again, that’s kind of an intimidating thought. “Maybe we should hold off a few days before telling her my name,” he suggests wryly. He’s not sure he can handle anymore displays of intimidation right now. 

“I can wait,” Steve promises. And then, maybe a little less sure, he asks, “Can I meet your friends? Or maybe just your part-timer? That’s probably a good idea, if I’m going to be by on the regular for a while.” As in, a long time, he hopes. 

Bucky’s own expression dims, but only a little. “You can definitely meet Wanda. And you’ve already met Alpine.” He’s quiet for a second. “If you want, we can do a video chat with my sister. But that’s… about it for people in my life.” 

Steve doesn’t miss the flicker of expression on Bucky’s face. “Hey. Quality, not quantity. That sounds nice. I’d like to meet your sister. I can’t even imagine having siblings, but I think my ma would’ve had a heart attack if she’d had to deal with more than one of me.” His fingers slip through the hair at the back of Bucky’s neck, aiming for somewhere between playful and soothing. “Does your sister know? What happened to you?” 

“Yeah. I think you’ll like her. She’s a good kid,” Bucky admits. “Smart. _Really_ smart, actually. She’s studying pre-law.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice. “Kinda wish I coulda known you growing up. Sounds like you raised some hell, Stevie.” 

He leans back a little, enjoying the feel of Steve’s fingers in his hair. “She knows, yeah. She doesn’t care. I mean, she was pissed, but not at me. I had to practically force her to get back on a plane to California. She wanted to stay here.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh at _Stevie_. “My ma used to call me that.” He scritches his fingers at the base of Bucky’s skull, seemingly hemming and hawing over whether he likes it. But -- he does. Certainly no one else has called him that, and he doesn’t think anyone else is likely to start. It feels good, the same way Bucky’s touches and his kisses and his smiles do. It feels like coming home, in a weird way, and he hasn’t felt like that in a long time. Not since he met Bucky. 

Bucky makes a quiet noise, enjoying the scritching more than he probably should. “Is that okay? The nickname?” He watches Steve carefully, trying to read his expression. “If it’s not, it’s okay. I won’t use it again if you don’t want me to.” He doesn’t want to bring up any grief for Steve if it makes him sad to think about his mom calling him Stevie. He hadn’t even really meant to say it. It had just slipped out before he could stop it. 

Steve keeps doing what he’s doing with his fingers against Bucky’s scalp, because the sound he’s making is just so nice. And at the question, he grins a little wider, nodding and resting his palm against Bucky’s neck, leaning in to bump their noses together. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t mind it. I just haven’t heard it in a while.” But he doesn’t think he’d mind hearing it more, in this century. Not from Bucky. 

And as for his sister -- “She sounds like a good sister. Not that I’m an expert.” But she does -- smart, caring, and stubborn. So, basically like Bucky, as far as Steve can tell. He’s pretty sure if that’s the case, he’ll like her. 

Bucky relaxes at the easy way Steve says he doesn’t mind being called Stevie, pliant in Steve’s arms as their noses bump together, making a soft chuckle escape him. “She is. She’s the best. Was a rotten brat when we were younger, but. I guess I’ll keep her,” Bucky jokes. 

“Maybe we can video chat, then, in a couple of days. When things calm down,” Steve suggests. Because he knows this isn’t over, and he can imagine Bucky’s going to need a little time to process it. And then there’s the physical: “Your shoulder feeling okay?” 

“She’ll be happy to meet you.” And glad that Brock is out of the picture. He hasn’t exactly kept her in the loop on most of that mess, but she’d meet him at the hospital a couple times. And hated his guts. He didn’t even have to ask. He could see it in Becca’s eyes, the way she’d glare at Brock the entire time they were in the same room together. But Becca’s an alpha. Maybe she’d picked up on something he’d missed at the time. 

“It’s a little sore, but a lot better than earlier,” Bucky assures Steve. “Do you -- would you wanna stay tonight?” He tries to keep his voice from sounding too hopeful just in case Steve wants to head back to his own place. He won’t use guilt to try and get him to stay if he doesn’t want to. 

It is nice to hear that Bucky’s sister will want to meet him; it’s not that Steve figures what they have is anyone’s business but their own, but that doesn’t mean that keeping it a secret would actually be good for either of them. Bucky already has enough he feels he needs to hide, and Steve knows he’s going to have to keep a low profile if he doesn’t want this getting out to more than just Natasha (and STRIKE… that’s still going to be an issue), but it should be something that Bucky can share with the people he’s close to, however many of them there are. 

He nods, relieved, when Bucky says his shoulder is feeling better; and he doesn’t need more than a second to agree: “Yeah. I’d like that. If you want me to stay.” He’d been maybe trying to think of a way to ask if he could stay without sounding like _he_ was being pushy, but the truth is, he doesn’t want to leave Bucky alone tonight. Not after what happened, and not after… everything else. Falling asleep next to Bucky, the way he’s been doing for days now, sounds like the perfect balm to everything that’s happened. Hopefully for them both. 

“And… I could bring a couple of things over. To leave here. For the future?” Steve asks, wishing he didn’t sound as tentative as he does, but this is Bucky’s home. His personal space. Steve doesn’t want to infringe on it. But he thinks -- hopes -- that maybe it won’t be a worry. “Just in case.” 

There’s palpable relief on Bucky’s face when Steve says he’d like to stay. He hadn’t really thought he’d say no, but sometimes people have their own places to go back to. 

“You can bring over anything you want,” he tells Steve quietly. “Plenty of space in the wardrobe.” He does cast a glance over at the Captain America uniform draped over the chair, doing his best not to smirk. “And maybe sometime you can put that back on. Not sure I was in the right frame of mind earlier to really take advantage of checking out all of its… assets.” 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. 

Steve makes a strangled sound that’s just a little too indignant to be a laugh, but it’s not far from one. “Oh really. I guess maybe I will.” He’s not really a fan of the new suit, not the way he likes the navy and silver tac suit better. But maybe for Bucky’s benefit, a little embarrassment would be worth the price. He owes Bucky, maybe a little, for accepting his reasons that he hadn’t said anything more easily than Steve had anticipated. 

Bucky laughs, loudly, at the noise Steve makes. “Yeah?” He grins, something between deeply pleased and amused. He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s jaw, light and sweet. The idea of Steve bringing some of his things over _just in case_ is more appealing to him than he would have thought. He loves the idea of waking up with Steve in the morning, of fixing breakfast together, drinking coffee. 

And as for Bucky saying Steve could bring over whatever he wants… Well, Steve might bring over quite a few things -- well, relatively speaking. He honestly doesn’t own much at all, but that makes it easier not to really care about going back to his own apartment, if anything. 

Steve’s never been very good with living alone, and he hasn’t actually had to do it for most of his life, despite the fact that he’s been alone in the world for a long time now. Between the orphanage and the Army, most of his adult life has been spent living on top of other people. And the idea of sharing a space again, even if it’s only sometimes, is incredibly appealing. Especially with Bucky. 

“Of course, if we get cat hair all over it, people are gonna start to ask questions,” he teases right back. 

“Well, Alpine won’t tell anyone. Will you, girl?” Bucky looks over at where she’s perched on the coffee table, watching them. He glances back at Steve. “See? Your secret’s safe with the Barnes’ household.” He smiles innocently. 

“Oh, well then,” Steve murmurs, finally letting his hand slide down, squeezing Bucky’s waist gently. “I don’t think even the Black Widow could get a secret out of her. I feel much better.” 

He leans in, unable to keep himself from pressing his lips to that adorable, innocent smile. And he doesn’t pull back very far to say, “How about we head to bed? Otherwise we’ll probably be up all night on the couch, and I don’t think that’d be very good after a day like today.” 

Tomorrow still seems far off enough not to present a problem, and for now, he wants to bundle them up someplace warm and close and dark. “Alpine can come.” 

Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s after the soft kiss, and he nods. “Yeah. We probably both need sleep.” 

“Speak for yourself, I’m a super soldier,” Steve teases -- he can _tease_ about that now, God -- but in reality, getting some sleep and making sure Bucky gets some, too, sounds like the best idea in the world. 

Bucky presses another gentle kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth before reluctantly moving away, getting ready to stand up. “Come on, Stevie. You want a water bottle up there if you wake up thirsty?” He usually takes one up for that reason, or in case he needs to take pain meds in the middle of the night.

He stands up, holding out his right hand to help Steve up, as well. Not that he really needs the help, but it’s polite. 

Steve grins as Bucky beats him to standing up, taking the offered hand because it _was_ offered -- and using it to pull Bucky in for _one more_ kiss. “Yeah, but only if you let me get it, so you don’t have to,” he says quietly. “Let me toss that ice pack in the sink, too.” 

He reluctantly pulls away, letting his fingers slip slowly out of Bucky’s as he heads for the kitchen. It already feels like he’s walking too far away, and he wants to be snugged back up, close again. Maybe he’ll go into work late tomorrow. He never does that -- so he’s overdue. 

Bucky stands still for a moment, watching as Steve heads to the kitchen. There are words on the tip of his tongue, ones that he thinks it’s too soon to say, but they’re _there_ anyway. He draws in a breath, chest feeling warm and full as he leans down to pick Alpine up off the coffee table. She snuggles into his neck immediately. 

He’s not ready to say them out loud yet. But he’s pretty sure it won’t be too much longer. He kisses the top of the cat’s head and makes his way up the short staircase to the loft where his bed is, and waits for Steve -- his _soulmate_ \-- to join him. 

It’s been one hell of a day.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve’s a light sleeper, and he usually wakes up at the same time every day -- usually before dawn. Today’s no exception, but when he wakes up and sees that it’s still dark outside, he simply snuggles closer to Bucky and goes back to sleep. Given what had happened last night, he figures they both deserve more time under the covers pressed together in the dark. 

Which, admittedly, works fine for another hour or so. But that’s when his phone vibrates silently next to his head and, given the very small list of people who have his number, he knows he’s got to check it. He reaches awkwardly around behind himself to get the little device, trying not to wake Bucky -- or pull away at all -- while he checks the screen. 

It’s from Natasha. And it says, _Have more info on HYDRA’s little project. One surviving test subject. You’ll never guess where he lives._

Well. _Now_ he’s definitely awake, and his stomach is back to that cold rock feeling, even as he taps out a, _One minute_ so he can very reluctantly start disentangling himself from Bucky, taking care not to jostle his bad shoulder.

 _Okay,_ Natasha sends back almost immediately. She sits at the little kitchen table in her own apartment, laptop in front of her and cell phone beside her as she waits for him to call. It had been a long night, most of which she’d spent up poring over the files that had finally been decoded -- files she got her hands on without even Fury knowing. There’s more information there than she’d anticipated, even if she’s had to do extra research to complete more of the puzzle on her own. 

It’s okay. She’s good at it. It’s why she’s one of the best at what she does. She’d been trained _very_ well and she knows how to use that to her advantage, and to the advantage of those she trusts and feels a sense of loyalty to. Steve floats right near the top of that short list these days. 

When her phone starts to ring, she picks it up immediately, pressing it to her ear. “Good morning,” she greets. 

“It’s a morning,” Steve agrees, from just outside the shop; he’d considered calling her right from the living room, but he still hadn’t wanted to wake Bucky, and especially not until he’s got more details on this. “What did you find?” He’s not necessarily one for beating around the bush, but neither is Natasha, really. Not unless she’s playing with you, and he doesn’t think this is exactly a case that warrants it. They both know how serious this is -- and Steve, especially, knows exactly the human impact of that “little project” by now. At least, he thinks he does. He hadn’t asked Bucky if it had been HYDRA specifically that had had his team, and maybe Bucky doesn’t even know. But things are starting to fall into place, and while the picture is starting to make sense, Steve can’t say he likes it. 

“They had one test subject so far with this project who survived. And not only did he _survive_ , it worked. All the others died. There was a name in the file: James Buchanan Barnes. It didn’t say much aside from that, so I did some outside research. He’s former Army. Was apparently a beta and they managed to change his designation to omega. It doesn’t say _how_ , but I don’t think it was all they were trying to do. There’s a reference to Project Rebirth, as well.” Natasha finally pauses, picking up her cup of coffee to take a sip. 

“Anyway, he actually lives here in Brooklyn after spending _months_ at different VA hospitals on the east coast. And he owns a bookstore. It’s called Book Barnes.” 

Steve’s stomach feels like it’s dropping farther the more Natasha says. It’s not necessarily because she has this information, because he trusts her. But it’s that _other people_ have this information, and he knows exactly what Bucky is worried about, exactly the lengths he’s gone to hide what happened to him. To try to heal from it and move on. It feels like this could blow it wide open, and that’s not even to mention the fact that whatever HYDRA’s doing, it’s killing most people and damaging the lives -- life -- of the survivors. 

_And_ the fact that they’re trying to do something related to Rebirth… well, that certainly doesn’t sit well with him. 

“Yeah,” he finally says, after maybe a beat too long, sounding maybe just a little too breathless for his liking. “Nat, I’m -- right outside Book Barnes, right now. I didn’t want to wake him up when I called.” 

He lets everything he didn’t say speak for itself, because she is more than smart enough to work out the details: that James Buchanan Barnes is the guy who was on his mind, and that things are -- despite everything last night, which he’ll have to tell her about -- going well.

Natasha is silent for a moment, absorbing that. “Okay. I’m going to take a shower and I’ll be there soon. Be careful what you say around him for now,” she warns, voice hushed. She trusts Steve, but people sometimes saw what they wanted when it comes to romantic interests. And she wants to make sure that this Barnes guy doesn’t have covert intentions of his own. 

“I don’t think there’s much I know that he doesn’t,” Steve admits, given what they’d talked about last night. “But I didn’t mention HYDRA. I wasn’t sure if it was the same operation.” All the same, “Take your time. Text me when you’re close, I’ll walk you in. There are a couple of possible complications I should tell _you_ about.” Like Rumlow. And -- mostly Rumlow. “In person, though. I’m not going behind his back.” 

Natasha’s silence doesn’t sound happy about any of that (because she can definitely convey that kind of thing with silence) on the other end of the line, but once they’ve confirmed the address, Steve hangs up and stares at the side of the building for a moment, knowing this isn’t going to be the easy morning for Bucky that he was hoping would follow a hard night. _I guess that’s what he gets, for being soulmates with me,_ he thinks -- at first a little wryly, but then he can’t stop the spreading warmth in his stomach, because they’re _soulmates_. Holy God, that’s still a lot to process. 

But neither he nor Bucky can process anything with him out here. So he heads back inside through the bookstore, locking both doors behind him and getting the coffeepot started before he heads toward the little loft with Bucky’s bed to see if he’s awake yet. “Buck?” 

Bucky groans a little at the sound of his name, and he tugs the blankets up and over his head. “Too early,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes shut. And frankly, too _cold_. He shivers beneath the covers involuntarily, frowning in his state of half-wakefulness, wondering why he’s no longer warm, and he realizes it’s because Steve had gotten up. “Come back.” 

“Would that I could,” Steve murmurs, with definite regret even as he does actually crawl back into the bed for a moment, if only to lean in over Bucky and pull the covers down over his head gently. He knows Bucky’s not going to like what comes next; he tries to gentle it by leaning down to touch his lips to Bucky’s, but then he’s got to say it: “Buck, you’ve gotta get up. Natasha’s on her way over in a little bit. Something’s… come up. I guess you’re going to meet her sooner rather than later.” 

There’s a definite pout on Bucky’s face when Steve tugs the covers away from him, but he sighs softly into the kiss, letting his eyes flutter open. He manages a sleepy smile before it begins to register what he’s said. It takes a full twenty seconds to even place the name _Natasha_ , but then something in his chest tightens. Black Widow. Of the Avengers. On her way to his place. 

And there’s something in Steve’s voice that’s definitely off -- there’s a hint of resignation mixed with concern, as well. Not good signs. Which means this isn’t just one of Steve’s _friends_ visiting because she wants to meet Steve’s boyfriend. 

And _that_ means that she’s coming over here because of Avenger stuff, and if _Bucky_ is being included… it’s either got to do with Brock, or it has to do with why he’s no longer in the Army. That does it. He sits up slowly, trying his best not to freak out even as Alpine meows in annoyance as he carefully moves her off legs where she’d been curled up. He mumbles a quiet apology to her, stroking behind her ears. “I’m gonna need --” 

Before he can even finish his sentence, he can smell the rich aroma of coffee brewing and he groans a little. “Coffee. Which you’re already making. You’re definitely the best boyfriend ever.” 

Even with everything going on, that one word -- _boyfriend_ \-- makes Steve’s heart trip a little, in the very best way. It makes his breath catch and his cheeks flush, and it also makes him lean in for another kiss before he shuffles back a little so Bucky can start getting out of bed. 

But that’s when reality comes crashing back in. “I didn’t tell her your name,” he says, because Bucky had said not to do that yet, and he wants Bucky to know he hadn’t lied. “But she knew. Based on what happened to you in the Army. That’s what she’s coming to talk to us about -- but she’s not coming to threaten you or put you or your bookstore in danger. If she tries, she’s going through me.” 

Steve trusts Natasha, and he’s sure that she’ll understand. But if she does think there’s some course of action she needs to take that Steve doesn’t approve of, they’re going to have a problem, and he’s not going to back down. 

Bucky tenses, but it’s an involuntary reaction. “This is about what they did to me, isn’t it?” he asks, forcing himself to stand up. His heart is beating more quickly now and he draws in a shaky breath. He’s going to need _so much_ coffee to get through this. He glances at the clock. It’s only a little after 7. At least he doesn’t have to get the store open until 10, _and_ since it’s a Saturday, Wanda would be in today to help out. 

Small blessings. He’s made an effort to start counting them every chance he gets. 

“I don’t know how much help I can be if you guys are looking for more information,” he tells Steve seriously. “I was debriefed by about eight different intelligence agencies aside from the Army after I was rescued. They already know everything I do.” 

Bucky’s sharp -- he figures it out quickly, and Steve just nods. He’s not surprised. “But they don’t know everything _she_ knows,” he says quietly. “Either way, she was going to look into it, so it’s better that she does it while I’m here.” Natasha can be tactful… but she can also not be. And Bucky deserves a little tact, given what he’s been through. 

Besides, “You might know something you don’t know you know,” he says, smiling a little at how strange that sounds at the same time he offers his hand to tug Bucky gently down the stairs and toward the kitchen. “Hearing it might tip her off. But I’m sorry this had to happen this morning,” he adds, because he is. Maybe he isn’t a big proponent of putting things off, but sometimes a guy just needs a break. 

“But if the people who did this to you are someone we can take down -- Buck, we could do it soon. We could make sure it won’t happen again.”

Bucky lets Steve guide him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he reaches up and grabs down three mugs, even though he leaves one unfilled for now. He pours coffee into the other two, considering his words and chewing his lower lip. 

“I’ll help however I can,” he says quietly. It’s not like he doesn’t _want_ the bad guys to pay for what they’ve done. He just doesn’t relish the thought of going over the same line of questioning he’s faced over and over since his release from captivity a few months ago. He turns and hands Steve one of the mugs before dumping a bunch of sugar into his own and stirring it before taking a drink. 

Steve can tell Bucky isn’t looking forward to this; he can’t blame him, but he can do his best to be there for him and make this as painless as possible. He nods, reaching for his own mug with one hand and lifting his other to rest at the back of Bucky’s neck for a moment. It had felt good, comforting, when Bucky had touched him there last night, and Bucky had seemed to like being touched there, too. If Steve has a free pass to touch Bucky wherever, whenever, then he’s going to do his best to offer what comfort he can. 

“And we’ll do whatever we can,” he echoes. “If there’s a chance someone could find out about you, or the store… that’s what Natasha excels at. She can make sure no one will take it away from you.” He hopes. 

Bucky closes his eyes when Steve touches his neck, letting the warmth of Steve’s hand seep into his skin, and it does help, even if he’s still nervous. Maybe even bordering on dread. He nods slightly at the reassurance. He doesn’t know Natasha from a stranger on the street, but Steve trusts her. And he trusts Steve. So he’ll do his best not to stress too much over all the ways this could possibly implode and demolish his life. 

Steve takes a few slow sips of his coffee, then finally pulls his hand away from Bucky to rake fingers through his hair and glance at the fridge. “I can get started on some breakfast, if you want. She’ll text me when she’s close. I’ll bring her in through the bookstore.” 

“You _cook_ , too?” That catches Bucky’s attention and he turns to look at Steve with widened eyes. 

And that look makes Steve laugh despite himself. “I -- uh, I guess I’ve only ever cooked for myself, so I don’t know if I cook _well_ , but… I eat a lot. A _lot_. So, learning to cook was kind of useful. Did you know there are entire television channels where that’s all they do? Cooking shows, 24 hours a day. It’s ridiculous.” 

Bucky smiles, too, mostly because he’d meant what he said the previous night: he loves the sound of Steve’s laughter. He intends to do what he can to make sure he does a lot of it, as long as he’s allowed to be in Steve’s life. “Right, super metabolism,” he says, nodding as it clicks easily. “Gotta eat to stay fueled.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says, maybe a touch sheepish -- he hadn’t been like this growing up, naturally, without much of an appetite and certainly without access to much food. These days, he does his best to get fresh food regularly, and make what he can to save. Maybe he doesn’t need to pinch pennies quite so much, but old habits die hard. 

Then he grins a little, tilting his head. “I can do eggs and toast and fruit, if you’ve got that available. Unless you wanted to cook.” He certainly doesn’t want to step on any toes.

Bucky nods. “I do. And be my guest. Usually I just eat corn flakes. Or sometimes a granola bar.” One of the side effects of the suppressants is also appetite suppression. He’s not hungry all that often, which makes it easy to forget that he still _needs_ to eat, anyway. He does make a note to start stocking the fridge and cabinets better for Steve’s sake, though. 

“Oh, we’re gonna fix that,” Steve hums with a sly grin, pulling open the fridge to get out ingredients before getting started at the stove. “Gotta pull my weight around here, if you’re gonna let me sleep over on the regular,” he points out, before nodding his head to the bathroom. “Go ahead and wash up first.” He’ll get breakfast on the table and wash up after. He’s not sure how long Natasha’s going to take, but he figures they’ll have enough time to eat and clean up. It doesn’t mean he won’t make sure there’s enough food for her, too. 

There’s a slightly dazed, albeit happy look on Bucky’s face as he stares at Steve for a moment before shaking his head and finishing off his first cup of coffee and then heading toward the bathroom as suggested. He’d taken a shower right before bed the previous evening so he’s not too worried about _that_ , but he does spend some time washing his face and using mouthwash, and then changing his clothes. His left shoulder still aches a bit but it’s a lot better than the previous night, so he doesn’t have to have help tugging on a long-sleeved navy blue shirt and a clean pair of jeans and socks. 

He combs his hair, raking his hand through it a few times until it lays on his head the way he prefers, then emerges to the smell of eggs cooking. He can’t actually remember the last time he’d made himself eggs so it’s been awhile since he’s had them. 

“Smells good,” he comments as he returns to the kitchen and pours himself another cup of coffee. 

“Hopefully it’ll taste good, too,” Steve says, maybe appreciating the way Bucky cleans up even just wearing a shirt and jeans -- right around the time he realizes he’s going to have to meet Natasha in what he has on, probably, which is a borrowed pair of sweatpants and an undershirt. But there’s nothing for it; people are a lot more lax on what passes for decent clothing these days, and he’s still going to wash his face and comb out his hair, so it’ll have to do. She’ll probably enjoy it, but he really doesn’t feel like putting the bright blue uniform back on. 

He serves out some breakfast for them both, putting the remainder on a plate that he covers for Natasha, then sits down with Bucky at the small table. Steve is actually pretty hungry, but he does his best to eat at a polite pace and make sure Bucky has enough before everything disappears off his own plate. And after that, it’s just a matter of getting himself cleaned up and waiting for Natasha’s text. 

The text comes fifteen minutes later. _I’m outside the store._

Bucky glances up when he hears Steve’s phone vibrate and he finds himself holding his breath, nerves surging back into place once more. He wants to ask Steve to reassure him again that this isn’t some kind of setup, but he reminds himself that Black Widow is an _Avenger_. She’s one of the good guys. She’s not here to shatter the life that he’s built for himself post-army. She’s here to help figure out what happened and go after the bad guys, with Steve.

He rises to his feet and moves to the coffee pot to pour himself another cup, taking his suppressants down with a long gulp and hiding them in a half-eaten box of Pop-tarts in the cabinet. He could do this.

Steve knows this is asking a lot of Bucky, asking him to trust not only Steve in this, but someone he’s never met, solely on her (admittedly interesting) reputation. He can practically feel the tension radiating off Bucky; even as he’s typing a quick reply to Natasha, he gets up and wraps an arm briefly around Bucky, burying his nose in his neck for just a moment before he steps back and heads for the door that leads from the apartment into the bookstore. From there, it’s only a few seconds before he’s opening the front door to Natasha. 

“Hi,” he says, smile and voice a little grim, but not displeased. “He says he’ll help if he can, but Natasha, this isn’t an interrogation. He’s been through those, and I’m sure you can find them. All right?” 

Natasha lifts one eyebrow and takes in his appearance, gaze dropping to the sweatpants -- that are just a couple of inches too short for him -- and then meets his eyes again. “I hear you loud and clear.” She pulls a notebook out of her pocket and shows him a note she’s already scribbled out. _Need to sweep for bugs._ She’s been accused of being too paranoid before, but she’d rather be too paranoid than not paranoid _enough._ Especially when it comes to things like HYDRA. 

And frankly, she doesn’t know Barnes. She doesn’t just give people her trust without reason. And definitely not before meeting them. 

Steve frowns a little at the note, but -- well, shit. If this could be HYDRA they’re dealing with… 

“Right,” he says quietly, ushering her in while pulling out his own phone to text Bucky: _We’re coming through, but she’s going to check for bugs. Just in case. Don’t think she’s being rude._

But Steve feels suddenly stupid, with everything they’d talked about last night, without having thought to check. But why should he have considered it? There could very well be nothing to worry about. Natasha’s just making sure. 

So, he concentrates on locking the doors behind them as they go and making sure he can be the first one back into Bucky’s apartment. 

Natasha glances around the store as she follows Steve. Plenty of hiding places for listening devices, that’s for certain. She pulls a small device out of her purse, pressing a button on it when she steps into the small apartment in the back, watching Steve close the door behind her.

“This is a frequency jammer,” she tells them as she sets it on the counter in the kitchen. “We can’t keep it on too long in case anyone gets suspicious, but I’m going to do a quick check of your place. I assume you’re James.” She gazes at the brunette steadily. 

“Bucky,” he answers, glancing warily at the device she’s set down and shifting his attention to Steve for a second before looking back at her and stepping forward to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

Steve’s smile is still a little tight as he steps up to stand next to Bucky, but while Bucky and Natasha are certainly wary around each other, that’s sort of to be expected, given the circumstances. This is not how he would have preferred they meet. 

But it’s what they have to work with. “There’s some coffee and breakfast,” he says, tilting his chin toward the counter. “We’ll get that laid out for you while you check. If you want me to help you sweep…” He will. He doesn’t know as much about sweeping a place for devices, but he’s gotten the basic training and seen it done. Bucky’s place isn’t that big, but he’ll step in to help Natasha if she wants. Otherwise, he figures it’s best to occupy himself and Bucky some other way and let her work. 

“If I’d known breakfast was included, I would have at least brought over some bagels,” she says, tilting her head to the side and then winking at him playfully before moving to start checking the apartment over. “I got this, though. Thanks.” 

Bucky relaxes a little with Steve right beside him, leaning against him instinctively even as he picks up his coffee cup to take another drink, eyes following Natasha curiously to watch what she’s doing. He knows the kind of tech she’s looking for exists, of course, but this definitely isn’t his area of expertise. He’d been a soldier, not a spy. “Who do you think would’ve planted bugs in my apartment?” he asks, feeling uneasy. 

Natasha hums thoughtfully as she starts in the living room, giving Steve and Bucky the space to refill coffee mugs and set out her plate. “Could be a lot of people. Could be no one,” she says cryptically, eyes darting from corner to corner, table to couch -- before she crouches down and feels around under the table for a long moment. Steve isn’t watching, but when she stands up, there’s something small and black in her hand, and a neutral expression on her face that makes _him_ feel anything but neutral. 

“It might take some work to determine who these belong to,” she says, continuing her search while Steve sets her plate down with almost numb hands. “There’s always the possibility of a break-in, of course, but if you’ve given anyone access to your apartment since you’ve come home, I need to know about it.” 

Bucky stares blankly at the small device in her hand, his heart starting to pound in his chest. Someone had planted fucking _listening devices_ in his home. The only place where he’s felt remotely safe in months. He rubs his hand over his face. “It’s been me. My ex-boyfriend. My -- employee, Wanda. And Steve. That’s it.” He presses his lips together. “And I feel completely comfortable ruling out both Steve _and_ Wanda. And I don’t know why Brock would bother.” But out of that list of people, he’s the only one that Bucky thinks might have done something like _that._

Natasha raises one eyebrow, a hard-to-read expression on her face for a moment. “Well, I don’t. I mean, Steve, sure -- he doesn’t know which end of a telephone to speak into these days -- but I don’t know your employee.” A beat. “And I do know someone named Brock.” 

Now her expression turns pointedly at Steve, who glances at Bucky for a moment before giving her a short, unhappy nod. It’s the same Brock. And he doesn’t know why, either, but out of that short list, “He seems the most likely.” 

Natasha just makes an expression that clearly says _Doesn’t he, though_ and keeps looking -- and starts humming something Steve doesn’t recognize, but Bucky might: _It’s a small world after all…_

It takes Bucky some effort to keep his expression calm at the insinuation that Wanda might be behind this. “Okay, Wanda’s 17 years old. And her family isn’t exactly well off enough to be able to afford this kind of tech,” he says, even if it’s more to Steve than Natasha. But when she starts humming _that_ song, he sighs, shoulders hunching. 

This is insane. Just the previous night he’d been sure the worst he was going to have to deal with was the fallout of his ex-boyfriend working with his new one, after said ex-boyfriend blackmailed and attacked him. 

“Sounds suspect to me,” Natasha stops humming long enough to say, but both she and Steve know that sometimes Occam’s razor applies: the simplest answer is usually right, and the simplest answer is Brock Rumlow. 

Bucky can’t help glaring at Natasha at her off-handed comment about still finding the situation with Wanda suspicious. And Steve can guess without thinking that’s what has Bucky hunching his shoulders. He reaches out, touching the small of his back, then deciding to hell with it and hooking that arm around his waist to pull him in a little closer. “There are a lot of reasons Brock could have left bugs,” he says quietly, though he’s not really trying to hide what he’s saying from Natasha. “Ranging from being a petty, perverted bastard to something a lot worse.” Because if Brock did this for a reason that _wasn’t_ petty revenge or territorialism… that makes it so much worse. And that’s a pretty awful thought. 

“Sounds like I really missed out on some good gossip,” is all Natasha has to say to that, still turning the apartment over for listening devices. Where there’s one… 

Bucky forces himself to take a deep breath, calming a little when Steve’s arm came around his waist. “And of course I would pick to go out with someone like that,” he grumbles. Then he winces, glancing sideways at Steve apologetically, leaning his head against Steve’s. He doesn’t care that Natasha is watching even as she comes back into the kitchen. 

“Pretty sure there were about fifty extenuating circumstances,” Steve murmurs, fingers squeezing Bucky’s side lightly for a moment. He doesn’t care if Natasha sees them standing pressed together, either -- she’s already got enough information to guess, and he’d rather she just know, instead of make assumptions. Besides, they have nothing to hide. Not from her, and not from anyone else. 

Natasha steps up to the table and drops three tiny bugs onto it unceremoniously. “All of which I want to know,” she tells Steve, but mostly everyone’s focus is on the devices on Bucky’s kitchen table. 

“Well, fuck,” Bucky mutters.

“I’m going to check the bookstore on the way out,” Natasha says, “but first, we need to deal with these. I’m going to turn off the jammer and we’re going to say we’re going out. We’re even going to walk over to the door and open and close it. Then no one is going to make a sound while I use this,” she holds up a little silver disc, “to fry them. EMP,” she adds. “Then I’m going to see if Steve’s a decent cook and somebody is going to tell me about Brock.” 

Steve glances at Bucky, but… it seems like a reasonable enough plan. To start with. 

Bucky glances back at Steve, pressing his lips together and nodding. He has a hell of a lot of questions of his own, and he’s not even sure he knows where to start. He motions to Natasha to let her know he’s ready whenever she is. He picks his coffee cup up once more and finishes it off, pouring himself another and topping Steve’s off, as well, and when she turns off the jammer, he holds his breath for a moment. “I could use some fresh air,” he says, voice eerily calm before he heads for the door, opening the door, giving it a moment, and then closing it again, raising his eyebrows at Natasha. 

She smiles faintly, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. She presses on the EMP, shorting out the listening devices and moving to the table. “Smells good,” she tells Steve, settling herself at her plate and taking off the cover over it to reveal the eggs, toast and fruit. “Huh.” She gives Steve a knowing look and digs in as Bucky sits down somewhat uneasily across from her.

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and waits for Bucky to sit down before he follows suit, keeping his coffee mug between his cupped hands, mostly for something to do with them.

“I do know which end of a frying pan to hold,” he says wryly, but he knows they’re only delaying the inevitable. He glances between Bucky and Natasha, before nodding to his teammate to start. Although first, he says, “I haven’t told him anything about our missions. But maybe we should.” 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed just slightly, looking from Steve to Bucky then back again. “I think I need to hear about Rumlow first,” she admits, taking a bite of her eggs and leaning back in her chair. “You two were dating?” She glances at Bucky, keeping her expression completely neutral. 

Truthfully, Bucky’s not even sure that’s the word he’d choose. “Yes. For about six months. I dumped him about two months ago. He just never really accepted that fact. Came by yesterday in order to blackmail me into going with him to Stark’s fundraiser.” His voice is flat, no hint of emotion there. He wants to reach up and rub at his neck, but he feels like anything like that will make Natasha assume he’s lying or unreasonably nervous. 

“Did you?” she questions, taking a drink. 

“Considering he threatened to have my store closed down because it’s illegal for omegas to own a business? Yes.” 

Steve doesn’t feel -- or look --- happy while Bucky explains. But, of course, he only explains to a point. He glances at Bucky, then decides to fill in at least a little of the rest. “Pepper called me at the last minute, said one of their guests dropped out and asked if I could do it. So I did. Brock shows up with Bucky in tow, introduces him as his boyfriend, and things kinda went downhill from there.” He pauses. “Nat, he knew Bucky and I knew each other. And he… wanted to grab lunch, a few weeks ago. Not long after I met Bucky. He started asking personal questions -- he said he wanted to make sure I was acclimating all right. It seemed strange at the time, but now…” It seems something worse than strange. And he knows Natasha will know that kind of behavior is not Brock’s norm. 

Natasha lets that settle for a moment, studying Bucky’s downcast expression and the seriousness of Steve’s. She knows there’s more to this story than they’re saying, but as long as Steve knows the details, she decides she can pump him for more information later. Without Bucky around. “So he was fishing for something. Trying to determine the nature of your relationship, or for something more twisted.” She hums quietly, tapping her fork against her plate. 

Bucky watches her warily, feeling oddly out of place in his own kitchen. He takes a sip of his coffee, resisting the urge to reach out and put a hand on Steve’s arm. 

“The people who abducted your unit ten months ago. Do you know who they were? Did you see any faces?” 

It’s all Bucky can do not to grimace. “It’s mostly a blur. I remember a couple of faces -- vaguely. But mostly I remember the voices.” He’s definitely tense now, heart beating a little faster. 

“They had you for almost two months. They wore masks the entire time? All of them?” Natasha presses. 

Steve hadn’t dug for details -- he’d wanted to, but he hadn’t last night, because what good would it do to make Bucky relive that now? 

More than either of them would like, it turns out; he knows he told Natasha this wasn’t an interrogation, but he also knows she’s going to have to dig. Still, it’s not easy to see the tension on Bucky’s face, in his posture, as Natasha asks more pointed questions, and he knows Bucky is thinking back to a time he clearly never wants to think about again. Everyone in the future says you’re supposed to process your trauma, but Steve is frankly happy to stay old-fashioned in that respect -- sometimes people just don’t want to talk about shit. 

Bucky scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, closing his eyes and trying to remember. He remembers being strapped to a cold metal table. Remembers struggling against restraints that had no give. Remembers being surrounded by people in medical apparel. He draws in a shaky breath, trying to delve further into the memory. “I remember a man. Older. Kinda -- strawberry blond hair. He was dressed -- like a businessman. Suit and tie. Blue eyes.” Cold, detached demeanor. 

_”His heart rate is off the charts,” one of the men in masks warned._

_“Continue the procedure,” the older man ordered._

_And then, pain. Blinding, horrid pain. Bucky had only stopped repeating his rank and serial number because he was screaming instead._

Steve glances over as Bucky describes the man -- and then stops talking. Watches as his eyes go unfocused, his skin goes pale, and Steve knows that look. He reaches out, carefully, with one hand to touch Bucky’s forearm. Not grabbing or pulling, but just touching. Grounding. “Buck? Buck, come on back here.” 

Bucky jumps at the hand suddenly on his arm, but he blinks a few times, not pulling away. He reaches up with his opposite hand, rubbing it lightly over his face and forcing himself to take a couple of slow, deep breaths. “Sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head a little. “Whoever he was… he was the one givin’ the orders.” His voice is rougher than before. 

Steve squeezes Bucky’s arm a little, then decides just to leave his hand there. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he says quietly, though there is anger building in him, because now that he knows who had Bucky, now that he knows what kind of people those were and at least some of what they were trying to do… 

It’s hard not to be angry, at a lot of things. Himself included. 

Natasha’s expression softens a little, but only enough that Steve is likely to notice. “The people who had you are part of a group called HYDRA. Are you familiar?” Her voice remains neutral and she wraps her hands around her mug of coffee. 

Steve does notice; he appreciates it, and he’s not surprised. Natasha isn’t unfeeling -- she’s good at her job, but she’s a human being and she feels for other human beings, and the fact that one of those is Bucky is a good sign. It sort of maybe means his friends will get along, despite the circumstances under which they’re meeting. 

Bucky glances between her and Steve, then shakes his head once more. “No. Should I be?”

“They started out as the Nazis’ science division. Until they went rogue and decided the Third Reich wasn’t ambitious enough. I thought we’d wiped them out in the forties, but… no dice,” Steve says, attention mostly on Bucky, though it ends up back on Natasha. “I didn’t know they were the ones that had you until I talked to Natasha this morning.” 

At the words Steve utters, Bucky can’t quite help the shudder that passes through him, feeling sick to his stomach. “Nazi science division. Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. If that thought alone isn’t enough to make him feel ill, there’s also the fact that he’s downed almost four cups of coffee. Probably not helping his nerves. 

“And I didn’t know Steve had you until this morning. You, specifically, I mean. He’s sure had somebody on his mind.” Natasha smiles, just a little. 

“I will break your leg under this table,” Steve says, but he definitely doesn’t mean it, and puts his concentration into rubbing his thumb back and forth on Bucky’s arm, over the fabric of his shirt. 

Bucky’s relieved when Steve doesn’t pull away, letting his touch ground and soothe his nerves in a way no one else’s touch ever has. At least _that_ makes sense now. If soulmarks and soulmates made any kind of sense, anyway. His gaze darts to Natasha long enough to see the smile on her face, but it’s Steve’s light teasing that makes _him_ smile just a little. 

“So they’re a terrorist organization that’s now experimenting on people so they can switch people’s designations.” Bucky’s smile fades away as he summarizes what he knows. “And we know they were successful. Whatever the hell they did to me worked. Which means they’re going to try it again, on somebody else. If they haven’t already.” 

Steve nods, all teasing gone out of the room now. “Yes. And if they have, I want to find out who, and if we can help them. If they haven’t… I want to make sure they never get the chance.” He twists a little to look at Bucky, fingers sliding down his arm toward his wrist, and then his hand. “I didn’t put two and two together until you told me last night. And even then, I wasn’t sure, but Natasha --” 

He glances over, and she nods. She’d confirmed it by contacting him this morning. 

“So,” Natasha says, spearing another bite of eggs with her fork. “What I want to know is where Brock Rumlow stands in all this -- if he’s really just a jealous son of a bitch, or if there’s something else going on here. And,” she smiles thinly at Bucky, “I want to know who your mystery man is. That’s two things I don’t know. It might be a record.” 

Bucky’s stomach does a somersault. “Brock was there. He was part of the unit that pulled me outta there,” he says after a moment. He’d never been clear on _how_ that unit had found him at all, but he’d been pretty out of it at the time. 

That certainly makes Natasha look… interested. “Well, that’s some coincidence,” she says, in a way that indicates she doesn’t think it’s a coincidence at all. And honestly… Steve is starting to think along the same lines. 

Which is disturbing for a lot of reasons. 

Steve makes a growling noise -- then realizes he’s doing it, and abruptly stops. “I want to have a talk with Rumlow, myself. But it might be hard. I think I broke his jaw last night.” 

There’s no mistaking the curiosity in Natasha’s gaze now, though. At all. 

“Last night ended… badly,” Bucky tells her, not quite meeting her eyes. “He attacked me on my way back here. Fortunately, Steve caught up to us in time to stop anything worse from happening.” Even if the bite Brock had been about to take wouldn’t have worked, he knows from experience that it’s unpleasant. To say the least. Brock’s never exactly been a gentle person for as long as Bucky’s known him. He’s always been rough around the edges. Brock hadn’t wanted to bond with him; he’d wanted to _own_ him. 

Natasha finally glances back to Steve. “I would tell you to lie low, but I don’t think you know how, do you?”

Steve rolls his eyes, watching Natasha pointedly as he takes a slow sip of his coffee. “I can lie low. But what about Bucky?” He glances at the devices on the table. “I know you’re going to sweep the bookstore, but do you think it’s safe for him to stay here?” 

He can always bring Bucky back to his place, bare and boring though it is. It’s not the cozy little space here, and it’s not attached to the place where Bucky works, but it is -- as far as he knows -- bug-free. 

Natasha studies them both, deciding, “I think it’s a red flag if he doesn’t.” She glances back to Steve. “I can’t imagine you’d let him do it alone.” 

Well. She’s got him there. “No,” he murmurs, finally leaning back in his seat again, hand sliding away from Bucky’s. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“So we just -- pretend we didn’t find bugs in my apartment and go about our daily lives as usual?” Bucky asks uncertainly. Alpine suddenly jumps up onto his lap and he pets her gently, not sure what the plan here is. “And just… wait and see what happens?” His stomach is still doing an unhappy tap dance. Between the uncertainty of what’s going to happen and the dread that’s settled on his shoulders at the thought of Brock being _part_ of the same group that had killed his unit, that had tortured him, changed him entirely -- he’s pretty sure that the nice breakfast that Steve had fixed won’t be staying down much longer. 

“No, _you_ pretend you didn’t find bugs in your apartment and go about your daily life. Steve will try his hardest, I’m sure. And _I_ will do some digging.” Natasha picks up one of the little listening devices, turning it over in her palm. “If this has something to do with Rumlow, we’re going to know very soon. And even if it doesn’t have something to do with Rumlow --” 

“I’m still going to deal with him,” Steve says quietly. “Very soon. Like I would anyone under my command who can’t act like a normal, decent human being.” 

“Right,” Natasha agrees. “Really, it shouldn’t be more than a few days before we have some answers, one way or another. Sooner, if I can manage it. It depends on how well someone like Brock might or might not have covered his tracks. Assuming it is him.” 

Steve still thinks Brock’s got the best chance of being their man. _Especially_ if his unit was somehow behind Bucky’s rescue. That does seem too coincidental for comfort. 

“Steve, why don’t you work from home for a few days,” Natasha says sweetly. “I can make sure you’ve got enough paperwork to keep you busy.” 

“Sounds like a real gas,” Steve murmurs, but he does look, at least, a little grateful. He doesn’t like playing the waiting game, and isn’t great at it, like Natasha intimated. But he can do it. Doing it here, with Bucky, will be at least a little easier. 

Bucky can’t pretend he’s not relieved that Steve will be around more often, and he gives him a tiny smile. He doesn’t exactly _want_ to be away from him for any length of time. Which eventually he knows is going to be a problem. He’ll work through it when he has to. Plus, no doubt Brock is out there seething over everything that happened last night. Knowing Steve will be around if he decides to show his face helps ease his worry about that. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. He can go about his normal life and pretend nothing’s changed, even though _everything_ has. He glances over at Natasha, noticing her coffee mug is empty. “You want more coffee?” he offers even as Alpine purrs on his lap while he strokes her fur. 

“I’m good, but thanks,” she tells him, hint of a smile on her mouth. “I should sweep the front part of the building.” 

Bucky considers that. “Maybe you shouldn’t blow those up if you find any. It’ll look less suspicious that way, won’t it?” 

Natasha definitely looks pleased, Steve thinks, when Bucky actually offers his thoughts. Honestly, he’s pleased, too -- Bucky is _not_ helpless, omega or not, and he has an Army background. The more active the role he takes… well, Steve knows how it always makes him feel better to do something, instead of feeling like things are just happening _to_ you without any control. 

“I’ll let you know where the active one is,” Natasha says, by way of agreeing with him. “And once I figure out where these are transmitting to,” she pokes the one in her palm, “I’ll start transmitting ambient sounds to the source. Should buy us some time.” 

Steve takes a slow breath, then nods, and glances between Bucky and Natasha. “I should go grab some things. If I’m going to stay.” Much though he really doesn’t mind wearing Bucky’s clothes at all, he still feels like he’s only half-dressed, and the only other option is his uniform. “Natasha, can you stay until I get back?” He doesn’t want to leave Bucky alone, no matter how well he might be able to handle himself. He knows that Brock is a sore spot, and sometimes, people get under your skin. It makes it harder to handle them, no matter how experienced you are. 

“I can do that,” she agrees, tilting her head to the side and arching her eyebrows. She still wants to meet this Wanda person, anyway. And maybe get to know Bucky a little better. Especially if he’s going to be dating Steve, and given what she’s witnessed while she’s here -- she has a gut feeling that it’s not going to be a short-term relationship. 

Bucky presses his lips together, not _entirely_ comfortable with the idea of being alone with Natasha yet, but feeling better about it than he would have even a half hour ago. He reminds himself that Steve trusts her. Plus, as much as he’s never kept up with the news about the Avengers, he knows that Black Widow is a force to be reckoned with. “Be careful. If he knows where _you_ live, he might be stupid enough to come after you,” he tells Steve quietly. 

Steve knows Natasha is a lot more formidable than she looks; between her and Bucky, he’s confident that if Brock comes back, they won’t have any trouble with him, even if he brings friends. And as for himself -- he nods, considering that is a possibility. Brock doesn’t know where he lives offhand, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t find that information with the right motivation. “I can handle him,” he says, but his smile is grateful all the same. 

He reaches over to give Bucky’s right shoulder a squeeze, then sighs softly. He’s going to have to put his uniform pants back on for the walk -- well, it might have to be a run, his place is a few miles away and he’d run the whole way here from the gala, to boot -- home and leave Bucky’s sweatpants here. “I’m going to get changed and head out.” The sooner he leaves, the sooner he can come back, after all. He might stop and pick up a few groceries on the way, too, especially if there are going to be two of them here for the next few days. He doesn’t want to be a poor houseguest (or boyfriend. He’s Bucky’s boyfriend, and that just sets off sparklers in his stomach all over again). “Shouldn’t take long. Maybe an hour or two, tops.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Natasha promises, hint of mischief in her eyes. “I’ll be on my _best_ behavior.” There’s no mistaking the barest hint of amusement in her tone. 

Bucky raises his eyebrows at that and nods his agreement. “And I’m always on my best behavior, so we should be good,” he says lightly, meeting Steve’s gaze and leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek before pulling away. He’s not really sure where Steve stands on PDA. They haven’t exactly had a chance to have that particular conversation, but he figures a cheek kiss is okay, at any rate. 

Steve’s not really _used_ to PDA, and he certainly couldn’t really touch or kiss Peggy in public. But now, with Bucky, he doesn’t really mind. He’s not ashamed of what they have, new or not, and he knows that trying to hide things from Natasha mostly just makes her seek them out all the more. 

Natasha, for her part, doesn’t seem to care. She stretches her arms over her head and rises to her feet. “I’m gonna start searching out there so I can be done by the time the store opens.” She glances at her watch. It’s only a little after 9 now, so that should give her enough time to find what she’s looking for.

“I really hope the place is still standing when I get back,” Steve teases, leaning over to pick up the empty plates and mugs as he stands to at least put them in the sink. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call me if you need anything.” 

After that, it doesn’t take long to get back into the bottom half of his uniform and head out, once he’s sure they’re set for the next hour or so. He’s pretty sure the two of them will get along like a house on fire, whether that leaves him in hot water or not. 

***

Bucky doesn’t have much to do in order to get the store ready to open in the morning. He puts on a fresh pot of coffee, straightens up the table of goodies by the front counter, and for the most part manages to ignore the fact that an Avenger is sweeping his store for bugs. At this point, he has little doubt she’ll find them. His tension is eased mostly by the fact that Alpine keeps herself perched on his right shoulder while he works. And when he’s done, there’s still a good twenty minutes until it’s time to flip the sign over to _open_ and before Wanda is due in. 

He’s wary about the idea of Natasha possibly interrogating the younger woman. Mostly because Wanda’s just a good kid. She’s smart and level-headed, and she’s always a big help around the store. It’s impressive for someone her age to be so conscientious. In a lot of ways she reminds him of Becca, and he can admit he feels a great deal of protectiveness over her. He’s met her twin brother a couple of times, but Pietro doesn’t come around very often. He doesn’t know too much about their background, but he senses there’s something tragic there because he can see it in her eyes every once in a while. 

Bucky makes his way back toward the apartment, figuring he can at least go make his bed and clean up the kitchen before he has to open the door to the shop. 

Natasha knows better than to make assumptions but at this point, Brock Rumlow does seem like a fairly good guess. Still, that doesn’t mean Wanda isn’t working with him, no matter how things might appear. It takes her some time to sweep the store, given that there are plenty of places to hide listening devices amidst cozy rows of bookshelves and display tables, and in the end, she’s got two more in her pocket when she steps back into Bucky’s apartment, closes the door, and hands him a note that says, _There’s one near the cash register. I’ll show you on my way out. The rest of the store is clear now_ , even as she leans her hip against the kitchen counter and says, “So. How did you two meet?” 

He nods, giving her a grateful look and tucking the note into his pocket, bemused smile touching his mouth at the question. So Steve hadn’t filled her in on the details. He looks a little sheepish as he ducks his head and pours himself another cup of coffee, wrapping his right hand around it. “I went out to grab some fresh air during lunch. And Brock proceeded to stalk me for about eight blocks. I kept telling him for the last two months that I was seeing someone else, but he didn’t believe me. I guess I’m not a good liar.” 

Bucky draws in a breath and takes a sip of his coffee. “And that’s when I saw Steve and I had an idea. I went up to him and asked him to pretend we were together just for a few minutes. And then I kissed him.” 

Natasha’s eyebrows lift a bit, clearly impressed, amused, or maybe a little of both. “Whether or not you’re a good liar might have had nothing to do with it,” she says, but that’s certainly not the point. 

“No. You’re right. It wouldn’t have mattered to Brock even if it was true,” Bucky concedes, voice hushed. 

“But you are a good judge of how to get rid of a person in a crowd.” Natasha smiles. “Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.” 

She can just imagine how that might have gone over with Steve, of all people -- although he’d seemed comfortable enough in the kitchen not that long ago. “Let me guess. He walked you home.” That seems like a very Steve thing to do. 

Bucky’s cheeks grow warm at her words. He rubs the back of his neck with an awkward smile. “Yeah. He did. It was -- kind of a foreign concept to me.” He looks up and meets her eyes, gives a small shrug. 

“And then we just got to talking and found out we had some stuff in common. I had no idea who he was. Actually… until last night at the gala. My brain didn’t make the connection between Steve Rogers and Captain America.” He’d make a terrible spy, apparently. “And then I saw him in his uniform there and I was kind of in shock for a while. But then it made sense.” Hindsight is definitely 20/20. 

“Hm,” Natasha hums, clearly thoughtful, though she doesn’t say anything more for a moment. It’s definitely an interesting story; still almost a little too coincidental for her liking, but sometimes coincidences are just coincidences. And sometimes they’re not. She has yet to determine that, but Bucky doesn’t seem to be lying when he says he hadn’t recognized Steve. Good soldiers didn’t always make good spies -- and vice versa. 

“Well, you certainly caught his attention in a way no one else has,” she eventually settles on. “It’s good. If it really is what it seems.” Because Steve trusts Bucky, which means that Natasha _mostly_ trusts Bucky, but there’s always that little sliver of doubt, when you’re trusting secondhand. “Except for the way it makes him distracted, of course,” she adds, a little teasing, but a little sincere, too. 

Rumlow certainly hasn’t been distracted. Hadn’t been, either. But then, there could be a lot of reasons for that. 

There’s no mistaking the hint of mistrust in her words, and Bucky can’t really say he blames her. Especially considering how high profile of a figure that Captain America is. He’s also not sure how to make her trust him, because trust isn’t something you can force. You either have it or you don’t. And they’d only just met, anyway. He’d have to earn her trust the same way she’d have to earn his, even if he mostly trusted her simply for the fact that Steve does, and because she’s an Avenger. 

His chest tightens a little at the mention that he distracts Steve, and he knows that’s true, remembers how Steve had come back with an injured wrist. He doesn’t know the details of that mission, but he’s pretty sure he’s at least partially responsible for Steve’s injury. 

Trust is definitely something to be earned, for Natasha -- but given Steve’s blessing, she will absolutely give Bucky the chance to earn it. “Brock had stopped bothering you until yesterday, though?” she presses.

“Yeah. I got about a two-week grace period from his creeper tendencies,” he agrees, moving to pick his mug up off the counter with his left hand, which he manages to do, even if it slips almost instantly out of his grasp and shatters on the floor. “ _Shit.”_ He glances first to make sure none of the hot coffee had splattered onto Natasha, and then to where Alpine’s sitting on the counter, tail swishing. “Can you grab her? Make sure she doesn’t jump down?” 

Natasha is already starting to nod when Bucky goes for the mug and drops it; she’s quick enough that none of the coffee lands on her, but clearly the floor is going to need some help. At Bucky’s request, however, she instead makes her way around the puddle to the cat, smiling gently and offering her hand first to sniff, before she slips it around underneath Alpine’s chest, pulling the cat off the counter and cradling her to her chest in a way that says she’s familiar with how to hold -- and keep holding -- a cat. 

She steps back, getting the feeling Bucky’s going to want to handle the mess himself. She hadn’t missed, though, the action that had preceded it; “Does that happen often? With the left one?” 

Bucky moves to kneel down on the floor to start collecting the broken pieces of glass as soon as he’s sure Alpine’s secure, taking note of the way Natasha cradles her close the same way he does when he’s carrying her. Aha, he thinks. She has a cat. Or had a cat at some point. 

He picks up the bigger shards of glass and dumps them in the trash can, grimacing at the question. “Sometimes. There’s good days and bad days with it,” he tells her, assuming she probably knows the extent of his injuries from her research. He’s… going to try not to think about how disturbing that kind of is. And he’s also going to hope that other people don’t have the kind of skills she clearly does. “Sometimes I forget it’s not the way it used to be until it’s too late.” Like just now. 

Bucky sops up the coffee with paper towels, then moves to get the mop from the tiny utility closet next to the bathroom. 

Not many people have Natasha’s skills, and even fewer of them have been looking into Bucky’s history the way she has. Anyone who has likely already knows about it, and probably isn’t playing ball for the right team, as the Americans would say. 

She simply hums at the explanation, letting him take care of cleaning up the mess and stroking Alpine absently. “The information I found on the drug they used on you mentioned Project Rebirth,” she says slowly, quietly. “Do I need to explain what I think that means?” 

There’s a part of her that still feels in the dark about that, and it’s the part of her that’s got to make an assumption, based on that information. There are still files on Project Rebirth that are out of her reach, largely because they’re _paper_ and were never digitized, and paper can be much easier to secure, which is one of the most ironic things about living in this day and age. 

But Natasha is smart: There’s something that tells her there’s a connection between Project Rebirth and designation switching that makes her wonder whether Steve Rogers was really born an alpha or not. It seems like a crazy thing to wonder… but it’s also a stupid mistake to ignore it. 

Bucky doesn’t look up at her, focusing his physical attention on what he’s doing, mostly because he _has_ to in order to operate the mop properly. But he’s still listening, still paying attention. Immediately he feels uneasy, guarded, because there _are_ things that Steve’s shared with him that he knows he hasn’t shared with anyone else. Or at least he’s pretty sure Steve hasn’t shared them with anyone else. 

“I know that Project Rebirth is what they called the program that transformed Steve into Captain America,” he says carefully. He’s not _entirely_ sure what she’s getting at, even if he’s got a couple of hunches. 

“But Steve also said that the formula they used on him was essentially an unknown. That it died with the doctor who invented it, when they killed him.” Bucky winces a little as pain flashes through his left shoulder and he eases up on the amount of pressure he’s using to clean up the mess he’s made. “So obviously there’s a pretty big difference between what he was given and what I was given. I definitely don’t have any kind of superpowers.” There’s more than a hint of wryness in his voice. 

“No,” Natasha murmurs, “I don’t think you do.” If he did, he wouldn’t be here now, damaged arm or not. She knows that much for sure. 

She sighs -- deliberately, but it’s not necessarily feigned. “Steve is right. The formula was lost. That doesn’t mean people haven’t been trying to recreate it for the better part of a century. It just makes me wonder,” she says, leaning back against the counter, aware that he’s struggling a little, but still giving him space to manage on his own, “whether adjusting your designation was the intent, or a side effect. Or a little of both.” 

“Makes sense. If they started out as Nazis doing science.” Bucky presses his lips together, still more than a tad disturbed about that detail. He rolls his shoulders a little to try and loosen them and goes back to mopping up. “Which would explain why they might want to bug my apartment, I guess.” He grimaces. “Keep an eye on their test subject.” And now there’s bitterness in his voice. 

“Now there’s an idea,” Natasha says -- one she’s had, but it’s interesting that Barnes jumps to it as well. “Keeping an eye on their test subject.” That does make things interesting, though, doesn’t it, if Brock Rumlow is the one who planted the devices. STRIKE might have a mole -- a mole with a broken jaw. 

There’s still something he’s hiding, she thinks. Something about what he knows, although she isn’t sure whether it pertains to himself or to Steve. He could just as easily be trying to protect Steve as himself. “I can think of a lot of uses for that kind of thing, whether superpowers come into the mix or not.” 

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he adds. “About the reasons someone might want to be able to control someone else’s designation. It paints a pretty fucking grim picture.” He sets the mop against the wall and sweeps the remaining tiny pieces of glass into a dustpan, then dumps them in the trash. “But even more reason if it’s not what they were trying to do. If they were trying to make their own version of Captain America. Whole army of super soldiers like him and they’d be able to do whatever the hell they wanted. No one could stop ‘em.” 

“You’re right. About both,” Natasha agrees. Changing people’s designations can tip the balance of power in a lot of ways. Creating an army of super soldiers can do that even more. And coupled together, “Just think how many people would sign up for an experimental super soldier program, willingly, if they could become alphas in the process,” she muses. 

Bucky’s not surprised that she agrees that it’s a possibility. It’s been spinning in his mind since they laid the pieces out for him to see earlier. And it’s also started him wondering if Brock _is_ more involved than he’s considered before. It’s a horrifying thought, that he’s been intimate with someone who’d helped break him to begin with. If he gives into the amount of horror he truly feels, he’ll crawl back under the covers and not get back up. 

“I have a feeling if you told them they could have superpowers, even the appeal of being an alpha wouldn’t be that much of an extra draw. If you have superpowers, your designation wouldn’t even matter that much. It’d be an afterthought, wouldn’t it?” It’s a lot to think about. 

“Would you have rather they turned you into an alpha?” Natasha asks, admittedly a little curious. It’s mostly personal curiosity; she tries not to give into it often, but sometimes she likes to indulge. 

Bucky considers her question for a moment. “No. I don’t think I would, actually. People’s designations have never really mattered to me that much and if that’s all that matters when someone sees a person, then they’re pretty fucking shallow. Kinda lets you know where you stand with people. Separates out who’s real and who’s an asshole.” 

“Maybe,” Natasha concedes. “But there’s something to be said for stereotypes. There’s a reason there are no omega world leaders, I think -- and I don’t believe it’s because there aren’t any qualified omegas,” she adds. She of all people knows that just because something _shouldn’t_ matter doesn’t mean it won’t. 

“What do you think that reason is?” he asks, expression cooling just a little at that assertion. He’s witnessed a few arguments as to why omegas can’t -- and shouldn’t -- be involved in government or even in the private sector in the eyes of most. Mostly online, where people have more anonymity. It rarely fails to piss him off. 

Natasha tilts her head. “Probably a combination of things, really. Some of it conscious, some of it not. But people are averse to change. They tend to stick with the familiar. If it’s always been done one way, it’s hard to justify doing it another. Even when it might be better.” 

“But you’re not wrong,” she adds. “It’s a good litmus test to have.” After all, look at the two highest-ranking alphas in STRIKE: Steve and Brock are very different people, and superpowers have nothing to do with it. 

There’s also Bucky’s family, because there are records of home sales and moving trucks and a lot of other things, that all just so happen to coincide neatly with Bucky’s abduction and subsequent release and rehabilitation. 

Bucky relaxes a little at her answer. It’s not the one he’d been expecting, the one he’s heard over and over for years: omegas are just hard-wired differently. Aren’t capable of being leaders. _That_ one is absolute bullshit. But she tackles it from a societal standpoint, and _that_ \-- well. She’s not wrong. He gives a slight nod of agreement, even if he hopes to live long enough to see that reversed. Not that he wants alphas to be powerless, but he thinks everyone on even ground would be great.

Once Bucky’s done sweeping up the floor, Natasha carefully sweeps one foot over it -- a show of trust, in a way -- before releasing Alpine back onto the counter. “If Brock tries to reach out to you, I want you to take his call,” she decides. “I know it won’t be comfortable or easy, but I think it might tell us something important.” 

The instruction to take Brock’s call makes Bucky’s stomach turn, even if he does his best to hide that from showing on his face. “All right. Is there any particular direction you want me to try steering the nature of whatever the conversation is?” He leans against the counter, glancing back at Alpine when she moves to jump up on his shoulder again. It seems to be her very favorite place to be these days. 

Natasha knows asking him to engage with Brock again, even if it’s still hypothetical, is asking a lot. Still, that’s what makes her appreciate the fact that he accepts it and moves on, asking how to maximize the effort, rather than shrinking away from it. He may not be a spy, but he’s still a soldier at heart, she thinks. 

“No, I think you should let _him_ steer the conversation, actually. Don’t act out of character. See what he wants and where he wants to take it. That will tell us more than anything you could lead him into, I think. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of person who’s afraid of going after what he needs. Or wants.” 

“Okay. I can do that.” It’s what he’s been doing for the last couple months anyway, except for the times he’s entirely ignored Brock’s calls and texts. He thinks maybe Steve breaking his jaw -- or almost breaking it, whichever the case may be -- might make him think twice about pursuing Bucky, but he’s been wrong before. “I’m assuming you have my phone number.” And it wouldn’t surprise him to find out she also probably had access to his texts and call log, for that matter. 

Natasha smiles; “I do,” she confirms, before taking out her phone and tapping something out. Bucky’s phone pings a moment later with a text notification. “And now you have mine.” Well, one of hers. One of her many, many numbers. But this one will do. “I’m sure you’ll tell Steve, but I’d like to know, too.” 

She drifts over to his cabinets, eyeing them for a moment before choosing one and pulling down a mug, offering the fresh, unshattered one to Bucky. “I can keep myself busy until Steve gets back. Don’t put off opening your store on account of me.” 

He smiles, too, faint but sincere. “You got it.” He takes the mug from her. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “Make yourself comfortable and if you want anything in the fridge or whatever, have at it.” He heads toward the door, pausing. “Or you’re welcome to come look around the store if you like to read. First book’s on the house.” 

***

It only takes Steve a little over an hour to get home, pack a duffel with enough clothes and toiletries for a week, and pack up most of the contents of his kitchen -- admittedly, he’s running low on just about everything because he has been spending time at Bucky’s, but he figures if he’s definitely not going to be coming home for days, he might as well bring it all with him. From there it’s not hard to pack his clothes, food, and shield (in a soft, dark case) onto his bike and head back to Book Barnes. 

The store is open by now, given the sign in the window, but part of him still doesn’t want to use the back entrance to Bucky’s apartment. Now, more than ever, he’s aware that someone might be watching, and while he doesn’t expect them to never use the back door, he’d rather keep it in reserve, just in case. So, he parks and pulls everything off the bike, shouldering his way carefully through the door and looking around to see if Bucky’s visible or if he should just make his way through to the back. 

Wanda is the one sitting behind the register at the moment, and when she hears the bell above the door jingle, she looks up from the calculus homework she’s been working on for the last half hour. One of the perks about this job is that when things are quiet -- and they are, admittedly, quiet a lot here -- Bucky is more than okay with her working on her homework. But when she looks up and spots a startlingly familiar face walking through the door carrying bags of -- well. She doesn’t know _what_ , really, but it looks like… Captain America is moving in with her boss? 

Her eyes are a little wide as she looks at him, momentarily speechless before she picks her jaw up off the floor. “Uh, hi, welcome to Book Barnes… you must be here for Bucky.” 

The girl at the counter is definitely not Bucky; Steve smiles as disarmingly as he can when she clearly recognizes him -- that’s the look he’d been trying to avoid the night he’d split faster than he would have liked. “I am. You must be Wanda? It’s nice to meet you -- I’m Steve.” He figures if he just… acts like he’s a normal person, she’ll realize he’s a (mostly) normal person, and maybe the wide-eyed look will die down a little. He glances at her book, then smiles a little wider. “Slow morning, huh?” Not that it’s a good thing, necessarily, but honestly, the quiet might be kind of good, given everything else that’s happened.

At the realization that he knows her name, her expression brightens a little and she gives him a nod. “Wanda Maximoff,” she tells him, extending her hand politely. “It’s nice to meet you, too. And… yeah.” She laughs. “It’s usually pretty quiet here on Saturdays. But it gives me a chance to get caught up on homework and studying and Bucky pays me for it.” She glances toward the steps that lead to the second floor. “He’s doing inventory upstairs. Want me to call him down?” 

Steve reaches out with the hand carrying his groceries, slipping it around his wrist to shake Wanda’s easily. “In a minute. He’s expecting me, but I don’t want to interrupt him if he’s busy.” He could just let himself into Bucky’s apartment, he figures, and he assumes Natasha is likely around here somewhere. But it might be nice to get to know Wanda, too -- especially if Natasha is suspicious. And although Steve is pretty sure she’s just exercising an overabundance of caution, it can’t hurt to get a little intel of his own. “How long have you been working here?” 

“Just a few months,” she tells him, tucking a long strand of red hair behind her ear. “Found this place when I was out taking a walk. It was almost hard to believe it was real. Not a lot of bookstores still around anymore, you know?” Most people have electronic readers now. Her family can’t afford that kind of thing. As it is, they’re lucky if they can keep the power on most of the time. 

Steve laughs a little, “Don’t I know it. It’s nice.” Sort of like a little haven in the middle of a world that definitely seems bigger and faster and louder than the one he left behind. 

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees quietly. It’s become something of a safe haven for her, too. She just wishes she could get Pietro to come around more often. She knows he’d like it if he gave it half a chance. “There was a sign in the window that part-time help was needed for evenings and Saturdays, which… is pretty much perfect for me.” 

“I’m glad it’s working out for you, and I’m sure Bucky’s glad for the help. D’you live close by?” Steve feels a little like he’s interrogating her, but there’s nothing for it. He _is_ curious, in reality, especially since Bucky didn’t mention a whole lot of friends or people he does trust. Getting to know Wanda better, provided she is trustworthy, could be valuable if something goes down.

“I’m not far. About a mile,” Wanda tells him with a small smile. She’s not about to ask him where he lives, even if she can’t help but think it’s about to be with _Bucky._ Which. Cool. Bucky’s seemed so lonely most of the time she’s known him. “How did you two meet?” she can’t help but ask, because she’s dying of curiosity. 

Steve makes a small, strangled sound that’s sort of a laugh at the question. “It was a little… weird, but mostly we just sort of ran into each other on the street.” That’s not untrue, at least. “Bucky needed help with something, so I walked him back and I ended up buying a couple of books.” 

It does almost make it sound like Brock hadn’t forced them together; although now that Steve thinks about it, they almost have Brock to thank in a weird, twisted way -- and he is never going to actually thank the man for it. He’d rather just feel lucky. Beyond lucky. “We’ve got a lot in common, I guess. He’s easy to talk to.” 

And now Steve’s starting to smile like a dope. “I guess maybe that’s a good quality to have, for someone who owns a shop like this. Keeps people coming back.” 

Wanda takes in the way Steve’s expression changes when he starts talking about Bucky, and it’s all she can do to repress a smile of her own at the lovesick expression on his face. It’s very telling. As it is, her entire demeanor shifts into something warmer now that she has an idea of what’s going on. “We do have quite a few regulars. People love him,” she agrees. “I don’t know what he needed help with, but it was nice of you to walk him back.” She bites back a remark about Bucky’s last boyfriend and what a jerk he’d been. She glances over her shoulder and up toward the loft area. 

“If you wanna put your stuff away, I’m sure he’d love to see you. He won’t mind if you go up there.” 

Steve somehow manages to look like he forgot he was holding anything at all, let alone loaded down with bags. “Yeah -- right. I should. But it was nice to meet you.” And while he’s certainly not Natasha, he does have a good feeling about Wanda. She seems sincere, in a way that he does trust. “I hope I see you again.” 

“I’m sure you will,” she tells him with the barest hint of amusement. She tends to come around even on nights she doesn’t have to work. Not every night, but quite a bit. 

Steve smiles and waves as best he can before heading for the back so he can actually unload and put his groceries in the kitchen, calling, “Buck? I’m back,” as he does, so he doesn’t startle Bucky _or_ Natasha.

“Okay! Be right down!” Bucky calls from up above. He tucks the pen he’s been using to jot things down behind his ear and sets his clipboard on the small desk, both glad for the reprieve from inventory and also that Steve’s _back._ He makes his way down the ladder slowly so he doesn’t end up missing a step and falling on his face. It wouldn’t be the first time. It’s hard to really hold on tightly enough when you can’t feel one of your hands most of the time. Today the left hand feels more tingly than usual, and in one way that’s more obnoxious than not feeling it at all. 

“Welcome home, Sailor,” Natasha says, voice light and teasing as she leans in the doorframe of the apartment entrance. 

“You know, some GIs might find that insulting,” Steve says, but he’s smiling, clearly relieved to find both Bucky and Natasha in a good mood, which means (coupled with the fact that no one called him) that everything must have gone all right between them. He sets the case with the shield down, along with his duffel, and carries the bags with the food into the kitchen, digging things out to start putting them away. “Did you find any more bugs in the store?” Not the cheeriest topic, but he’s assuming the answer is yes and he wants to know for sure. 

“Yes,” she confirms. “Three. Killed two of them. Left one like we talked about.” She raises her eyebrows. “I told him if Brock calls, to take the call and act normal. If we give him enough rope, he might just end up hanging himself with it.” That’s what she’s hoping for anyway. As much as she doesn’t like the idea that a member of their team has anything to do with HYDRA, in another way it would almost make things easier. 

One corner of Steve’s mouth twitches up wryly, but he agrees with Natasha. “Good idea,” he confirms -- he’s learned that people like Brock will dig their own graves, and gladly, if you let them. Still, there’s a part of him that’s more than a little wary, given how Brock and what he’s said and done have affected Bucky. But if Bucky agreed to it, and Steve suspects he did, then all he can really do is stand by him and be there if he’s needed. Mentally or physically. 

Natasha watches as he unpacks several bags of food and starts putting them in the fridge. “Did you literally bring your entire kitchen, Rogers?” She tries not to smirk. 

Steve hums, unimpressed, and props open the fridge door with his hip to put his milk away. “I’m actually running pretty low. But if I’m going to be staying here, it’s just going to go to waste over there.” And Steve is loathe to waste anything, food especially. “I don’t wanna eat him out of house and home in a day, that’s just rude. And a guy should probably only eat so much takeout.” 

“Who eats takeout?” Bucky jokes as he steps into the apartment, glancing back to make sure Wanda is okay and doesn’t need him for anything. She seems to be good, focusing intently on her homework, though. He’ll check in with her soon, see if she needs any help. She isn’t the world’s biggest fan of math and Bucky’s pretty good with numbers. 

“Who doesn’t?” Natasha tosses back lightly. 

“Just not all the time,” Steve concludes, grinning at Bucky, feeling more relieved than even before, now that he’s got him in his sights. He doesn’t look particularly ruffled, which is another good sign. And he’ll take all the good signs he can get, right now. “I just figured I’d bring over what I had in my kitchen so it didn’t spoil,” he puts in. “Natasha doesn’t appreciate my efforts not to waste food.” 

But really, he’s not so put out at all. It doesn’t take long to find places in Bucky’s kitchen to put the rest of his groceries, after which Steve turns around and leans against the counter. “So we’ve got one live bug out in the store and we’re going to hole up here for a couple of days. Natasha, I want you to check in at least once a day. Preferably more.” Because if she’s going to be out digging up dirt, he wants to know no one is going to sneak up on her -- unlikely, yes, but not impossible. “I can’t stay here forever, and I’m going to have to deal with Brock, but… I want you to dig into the rest of STRIKE, too.” 

He doesn’t like asking her that, doesn’t like implicating the rest of their team on what is potentially one bad egg. But it seems the prudent thing to do. 

“I was already planning on it,” Natasha admits, patting his arm as she moved to grab her jacket off the kitchen chair. “I’ll let you know what I find. If you need me, you know how to get ahold of me.” She gives Bucky a pointed look. “So do you.” 

Bucky gives her a small smile and nods, struggling to keep his attention anywhere but directly on Steve. It feels like it’s getting harder to take his eyes off him each time they’re around each other, and he doesn’t know if it’s because they’re soulmates or if it’s because Steve is just _that_ good looking. It’s probably a little of both. But the mention of the rest of Steve’s team being under investigation knocks him for a loop when his brain catches up with the conversation. “You think they’re _all_ involved?” 

Steve grimaces a little, letting out a slow sigh. “I hope not,” he says quietly. “But Rumlow is pals with a lot of them. That may not mean anything. But it could. You know how loyal soldiers can be to their squad, and Natasha and I are the latecomers.” Steve hadn’t considered them outsiders so much as, well, COs (himself more than Natasha, admittedly, given their roles). But they don’t have exactly the same dynamic with the rest of the team that, say, Brock does. “Maybe they’re not involved. That doesn’t mean they couldn’t be covering or even just choosing to look the other way. I want to be sure. HYDRA is too serious a threat to underestimate. Apparently I did that already.” 

As if watching their leader disappear off a plane he’d subsequently crashed into the arctic hadn’t been enough. It makes him feel hollow, right now, to think it hadn’t been. 

But it’s hard to feel _too_ hollow, with Bucky in the room beside him. That’s weirdly nice -- for all that it is weird. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Natasha tells him, voice sincere. “And if they’re involved, we’ll nail them to the wall.” She steps up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek before heading for the door. “I’ll be around.” 

Bucky watches her go, then glances back at Steve. “You know this isn’t your fault, right?” he asks quietly. Because it feels like this could very easily spiral into a guilt trip on Steve’s part, and if he gets any say in it, then Bucky’s not letting that happen. 

Steve glances over when Bucky speaks, almost like he’s startled to find Bucky there. That’s not it, though -- no, he’s startled that Bucky pretty much hit the nail on the head. “I can’t help but think some of it is,” he ends up saying, just as quietly. “I tried to stamp them out seventy years ago, but… I guess I got cocky.” _Cut off one head, two more shall take its place_ and all that bullshit. Maybe it had been foolish to think that cutting off what he thought was the most important head would have done it. 

“I don’t like that they hurt you,” he adds, and now he’s definitely unhappy, just thinking about it. “I don’t like that they’re still hurting people. They’re different from your average terrorists. They’re so much worse.” 

Steve can be surprisingly easy to read sometimes. Bucky already feels like he’s learning the intricacies of his various expressions and the way he holds himself. He remembers the first day they’d met, how Steve had deliberately hunched his shoulders before heading out the door to leave the shop, and he wonders how much of his life he feels like he has to pretend he’s not who he is just to get a little peace and quiet. 

And now, Bucky’s dragged him right into the middle of the exact opposite. 

Wordlessly, he moves over to stand in front of Steve, resting his right hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “And I have _no_ doubt you did everything you could to get rid of them. The thing about terrorists is… even when you get rid of one, there are two more behind you waiting to take you down instead. I don’t think evil ever really goes away, Steve. But I think you do more than most to counterbalance it. And that’s -- that’s important.”

Frankly, Bucky could drag Steve through hell and he would go, willingly; it’s not Bucky’s fault that what happened to him happened, and if anything, Steve is _glad_ that he’s the one Bucky did, a little bit literally, pull right into this. He’s the best equipped -- along with Natasha -- to handle HYDRA. And he wouldn’t want anyone else but Bucky by his side, now or in the future. 

That probably is because they’re soulmates, but… there’s a part of Steve that doesn’t mind. There’s a part of him that wants to revel in the fact that he _has_ another soulmate, and this time… this time, he doesn’t have to hide it from the world. 

Except he does, a little, because Bucky probably doesn’t want the headache that’s going to come along with being attached to (married to? Bonded to? He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows) Captain America. That’s asking a lot of him. And Steve doesn’t want to even consider how to ask that of him, just yet.

And then there’s Peggy. Steve goes right back to feeling guilty for a moment, because Peggy never even got the chance to show her soulmate off to the world. And he knows she doesn’t regret it, he knows her life wasn’t any less for it. But he maybe can regret it a little, for her. 

But now he’s been quiet too long. “Yeah,” he finally says, a little distracted, and feeling bad because he knows Bucky’s just trying to make him feel better, and it is working. “Yeah, you’re right. I mean -- I try to do good. I’m not going to stop. That’s when they win.” 

Steve blows out a breath and tries to blow out his anger with it. Getting mad now might feel righteous, but it won’t actually do anything to help. But, “If Brock is HYDRA,” Steve finally says, “he will really, really regret lying about who he is and what he stands for to my face. Every day.” 

Finally, though, he smiles, reaching out to snag Bucky by the right wrist and pull him in closer. “Sorry. Got lost in my head a little.” 

Bucky lets Steve tug him closer, doesn’t protest the way their bodies end up pressed close together. He’s pretty sure he’d never protest closeness with Steve. And the way he craves it sometimes scares him in its intensity. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s jaw, then leans his cheek against his. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, letting his eyes close. “I wouldn’t let you stay lost too long.” 

Just like when he’d gotten lost inside his own bad memories this morning, Steve had reached out, gently pulled him out of that horrible abyss. He’ll do the same for him, always, God willing. He gently tugs his wrist loose and then slides his fingers through Steve’s, giving his hand a light squeeze. 

“You okay now?” Bucky’s voice is quiet when he pulls back to look at him, searching his eyes for any signs of distress. 

“Yeah,” Steve says -- and this time, he definitely means it. Bucky’s palm pressed against his, Bucky’s cheek pressed against his, are grounding in a way that little else is. Steve had, admittedly, forgotten what it felt like to be touched just to be touched. He can see why Bucky craves it, even without being an omega anymore. 

“Although I’ve got to admit, I haven’t had more than about half a day off in… decades,” Steve says, laughing a little. “I’ll try not to go stir crazy and drive _you_ crazy. Or Wanda. I met her coming in. I like her. Although I think she recognized me.” 

Which is maybe the barest start of that conversation they’re going to have to have, someday, but it can lie for now if it needs to. 

“Maybe you’ll even enjoy it,” Bucky teases, feeling his chest grow warm at the sound of Steve’s quiet laughter. “But if it helps, I’m not that great with down time, either.” Except when Steve’s around, apparently. The rest of the time he feels like a ball of nervous energy bouncing around, usually without any place to go. 

And, “Well. I’ve heard you’re kinda popular, so I’m not really surprised.” Bucky chews the inside of his cheek, trying not to smirk. Then his gaze grows serious. “Want me to talk to her? Ask her not to say anything?” 

Steve takes a slow breath, searching Bucky’s face as his expression goes a little serious. “Honestly, it depends on whether _you_ want her to say anything,” he says; so, he might as well say the rest of it. “Someone’s going to, at some point, because we’re not going to just sit in your apartment all the time, current circumstances notwithstanding. Plenty of people don’t know who I am,” and here, he grins, hip-checking Bucky ever-so-slightly to indicate who he’s talking about, “but plenty of people do. And that means they’re going to know who you are, too. Is that… gonna be okay? Someday?” 

Bucky’s a little startled by the idea that it’s his decision and he frowns until Steve starts to explain more. Then, he relaxes, shaking his head. “Steve.” His voice is hushed, and he reaches up with his left hand, even though it’s a little bit of a struggle, and he presses that hand to his face. “I’m okay with it now.” He squeezes his hand. “I can handle it.” 

That touch makes Steve smile, despite his worry; his fingers come up, curling carefully over Bucky’s hand, like he’s trying to acknowledge how hard he knows it can be to use it. “I know you can handle it,” he says -- because he does, he believes Bucky when he says that he can. “I just… no one ever really told me what it was gonna be like, with everyone knowing my name. It’s a price I pay, and that’s fine, but I just wanted to make sure it was fine with you.” 

Bucky considers that for a moment, studying him. “Thing is… I don’t really pay that much attention to the news.” He’d gotten out of the habit when he’d been in Afghanistan without regular access to a television or newspapers. “I won’t even see most of it.” He gives Steve a gentle smile, ignoring the ache in his shoulder that’s a little sharper now just from the way his hand is positioned. 

Bucky might not see it, but other people will. Steve’s smile is still a little hesitant, but he won’t second-guess Bucky twice. If he says it’s all right, then it’s all right, even if Steve is admittedly still a little worried about some of the things Bucky _does_ have to hide, like his designation. Especially since Brock Rumlow knows the truth. 

Bucky said he was okay with it, but Steve just needs to double-check. To make sure. “I don’t like hiding,” Steve finally says. “So if we don’t have to… I don’t want to.” 

“I already have to hide a lot. I don’t wanna hide you, too,” Bucky admits, resting his forehead against Steve’s. 

He knows he’s probably over-simplifying the way things will be once people catch wind that _Captain America_ is dating someone. But he figures if he can handle an actual battlefield, a couple of months of torture, living through the pain of recovering from his injuries and the loss of his unit...well, hell. It can’t be any worse than all of _that_. 

He presses a light kiss against Steve’s lips before pulling back to look at him, letting his hand drop down to his side once more. “We’ll deal with it. Whatever happens.” And he sounds confident about that, so that’s good. He feels like Steve’s still a little uncertain and he wants to reassure him.

Bucky does sound confident, and it does help. It’s good to have another person in his corner he can trust absolutely, because God knows he has precious few of those. And he wants to be that for Bucky, too, and the funny thing is, despite the things they started out keeping from each other, Steve doesn’t feel like it’s an issue anymore, and he doesn’t feel like it’s made them anything but stronger. Now they both know the value and the importance of telling each other everything. 

“All right,” he says, nodding a little as he releases Bucky’s hand. “Then we won’t hide.” He smiles a little more. “I mean, as soon as we’re done lying low, anyway. I don’t think it’ll be more than a couple of days.” He doesn’t _want_ it to be more than a couple of days, either way, and he knows the longer they leave things with Brock without addressing them, the worse it’s going to be when they do. 

Except that only reminds him that Brock -- or someone -- heard their entire conversation last night, or will hear it, and probably recorded it. That’s going to be another bridge to cross, but he isn’t going to worry about it yet. They’ll either catch Brock red-handed and deal with it… or they’ll deal with whatever comes of it when it happens. Like Bucky said.


	7. Chapter 7

Wanda still feels a little dazed as she makes her way farther into the store, toward the hidden apartment at the back. She’s been in Bucky’s apartment a couple of times, mostly helping make sure Alpine is in the for the night, but once for hot chocolate after a rough day at school. She tries not to bother Bucky much, because as laid back as he usually is, she feels like he’s always a little on edge, but -- this is out of her realm of experience. She knocks quietly on the door and waits. Monday evenings are usually slow and tonight’s been no exception except for the last not-quite-a-customer who’d shown up. 

She hears footsteps approaching and she draws in a breath, knowing she’s about to be the bearer of bad news, which she hates. 

“Hey,” Bucky greets as he pulls open the door and smiles at her, at least until he sees the wariness in her eyes. Uh-oh. “What happened? Are you all right?” His eyebrows furrow with concern. 

“There was a reporter just here,” she tells him, troubled. “Is Steve around? He should hear this, too.” 

Steve is indeed around, just coming out of the bathroom where he’d been hanging up fresh towels (he’s determined to help out around the place, as if it were his). And he doesn’t like the look on Wanda’s face any more than he likes the sound of her voice. 

“What is it?” he asks, immediately at least a little on edge. He frowns, because a reporter is much less serious than, say, Brock or someone looking to make physical trouble, but they also haven’t been out of the apartment together, and Steve himself hasn’t left since he brought his things over a few days ago. Even so, someone must have seen him leave and come back (and not leave again) -- he’s already assuming this is going to be about him and Bucky and how it’s become public, which is not ideal timing, but at least it could be something worse, right? 

Wanda takes a deep breath, glancing at Steve. “He asked what I thought about the fact that --” She hesitates. “That Captain America wasn’t born an alpha. That he was born an omega, and that the government hid that when they put him through the procedure that made him into who he is.” 

Bucky feels all the air leave his lungs. That’s -- worse than he’d been expecting. By far. 

“I told him I had no idea what he was talking about and it sounded like a dumb rumor or a conspiracy theory. He left when I threatened to call the cops,” Wanda adds, tucking some hair behind her ear.

Steve is not the kind of guy who really cares what others think about him. He’s not. But even so, Wanda’s words make him go cold, and for a lot of reasons. First, that someone knows he’s involved with Bucky, for sure, which he’d maybe already expected, but has clearly been confirmed. And second, that whoever was on the other end of those bugs _did_ hear their conversation and is already using it against them. Because if he’s potentially exposed as someone whose designation has been changed unnaturally, then Bucky could and very likely would be next. 

He’s hoping the look on his face doesn’t tip Wanda off to anything other than the fact that he’s obviously upset. He glances at Bucky, knowing _he’ll_ know it’s not just a baseless accusation, before turning back to Wanda to say, “You did the right thing, threatening to call the cops. I’m sorry someone bothered you like that. Over something so --” What does he even say? Ridiculous? It’s the truth, but while he trusts her, he isn’t sure he wants to tell her that, any more than Bucky wants to tell her what happened to _him_. 

“It’s okay,” Wanda assures him, shaking her head. “I just thought you should know. I’m fine, he wasn’t mean to me or anything. Just… annoying.” She offers them a small smile. 

Bucky draws in a slow, deep breath. “We appreciate you telling us,” he says honestly. His heart is beating quickly in his chest. God, this could be terrible. Could put Steve in actual _danger_ when he’s out on his missions. He doesn’t know how Steve’s coworkers will feel about this, but what if it means they won’t have his back when he needs them? He swallows back the nausea that’s building rapidly. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll let you know if he comes back or anything,” she says, nodding, and turning to head back toward the front, then pausing in her tracks, hesitating. “If it was true, and I know it’s not, but if it _was_ \--” She turns to look back at them. “I wouldn’t care. You’re still a hero.” She shrugs. “And the whole designation thing is _stupid_ anyway.” 

Steve can’t help the way his lips tick up into a smile, if a small one. “Yeah,” he says, feeling a little breathless, but this certainly isn’t the first time he’s needed to put on a brave face, pretend everything is fine, and he can do it now, especially in front of Wanda. “Yeah, it is stupid. Thanks. That means a lot.” 

Especially because it _is_ true, but -- like she’d said, even if it wasn’t, it’s still going to get people thinking. It’s not something that can be taken back and hidden again. 

Steve waits, though, until Wanda has left the apartment again before he glances at Bucky and says, “Rumlow or not, whoever was listening in isn’t keeping it to themselves.” 

Bucky nods at that, gray eyes troubled as he looks at Steve and closes the door behind them. “Steve...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He hadn’t, of course, known that someone had bugged his apartment until a couple days ago, but it had been here in his apartment where he and Steve had talked about a lot of things of a very sensitive nature and he can’t quite shake the feeling of responsibility. 

That definitely makes Steve frown. “Buck -- no. This isn’t your fault. It’s… honestly, even if people believe it, what can it change now?” 

“A lot,” Bucky responds, shaking his head. A _lot_ could change. And not for the better if this isn’t handled quickly. And if this is because of _Brock_ and some need for revenge, then it _is_ at least somewhat because of him that this is happening. What doesn’t make much sense to him is why, if it _is_ Brock behind this, he hasn’t already released Bucky’s designation to the general public. But he thinks that despite the fact it means losing his store, Brock going after _Steve_ to get to _him_ is somehow even worse. 

Yes, the answer is _a lot_. But it’s also _not much_. Steve’s torn between not wanting to care at all, and not being sure what’s going to happen next. But he does know it’s absolutely not Bucky’s fault. He’s honestly more angry that anyone, Rumlow or whoever, _bugged_ Bucky’s apartment. Even if Steve hadn’t admitted things that night, Bucky might have. And that same person would have heard it. 

That same person _did_ hear it. “If they can attack me, they can attack you,” Steve says, quietly. “You have a lot more to lose than I do.” Even if he really isn’t thinking about the fact that it’s _illegal_ to pretend to be a designation you’re not. Especially for omegas. And if someone thinks he’s not really an alpha, he can at least be detained until it’s confirmed. 

Although there’s never been a case for an omega _turning into_ an alpha before. And no legal precedent. Anything could go.

“We both have a lot to lose,” Bucky says quietly, gnawing on his lower lip. “We should check out the news. See how bad it is.” Because if one reporter’s already managed to track down the connection between them and showed up at the shop, he’s sure more are sure to follow suit. They need to be as prepared as they can. 

He hears Steve’s phone buzz and he draws in a slow breath, trying to steady himself. 

Steve’s just starting to nod -- he doesn’t have a good solution, just yet, so for now it is best to just see what they’re facing and gather more intel -- when his phone begins rattling its way across Bucky’s counter with several message notifications. “I’ll see what that is,” he says, already having a feeling it’s just as likely to be bad as it is good, “and you maybe turn on the news?” 

He resolutely crosses the short distance to his phone and picks it up, only to see three messages from three different people: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, and Nick Fury. He blows out a breath.; Tony wants to know if it’s true (and how Erskine and his father managed it if it is), Pepper wants to let him know she’s very experienced at turning baseless rumors into yesterday’s news, and Fury only tells him, in very cryptic terms, that there’s going to have to be a public response from the government on his behalf. 

Fury also wants to know why a member of his team has filed a complaint against him. 

Steve ends up dropping heavily onto the couch. He doesn’t get migraines anymore, but it sure feels like one wants to give it the old college try. 

Bucky can’t help wincing at the distressed look on Steve’s face, but he moves to sit down beside him, bodies pressed close together in hopes that the contact helps a little. He rests a hand on Steve’s thigh. “Nat?” he guesses. She’s probably heard rumblings by now. She seems the type who stays pretty connected to everything that’s going on with the Avengers, or at least, to Steve. If he didn’t know better, he might be a little jealous, but he’s seen them interact and the relationship they have is platonic. Strong, but platonic. 

He’s glad that she has Steve’s back and he doubts that this information will change anything about that. The other Avengers, though, are complete unknowns to him. He has no clue what to expect from any of them. Hopefully, though, they’re all like Natasha with her sense of loyalty. 

“Actually, no,” Steve says, with something that’s almost a laugh under his voice, but it’s not because anything is particularly funny at all. “Although Pepper says she can help me deal with this.” Of course, she also thinks it’s a lie, which is… somehow, that makes him feel worse, even though the whole point is that everyone thinks it’s a lie. “Tony wants to know if it’s true, the government is going to have to say something publicly, and apparently Brock filed a complaint against me.” 

The last part sounds somewhere between wry and exhausted. That’s about how he feels. Suddenly, he feels very, very tired, blowing out a slow breath. “It’s -- I mean, I’m an alpha now. You can’t fake that. So I can prove it.” 

Even if he doesn’t like the fact that he has to -- or the fact that if someone were to make Bucky prove he’s a beta… he couldn’t. 

Bucky feels his heart sink a little more at each new revelation. And sure, Steve can prove it with a DNA blood test. All in all, that’s not that big of a deal. Except it’s a lot all at once and if _he_ feels overwhelmed, then he knows Steve must feel even worse. And he can see the tiredness in his eyes. He wants to apologize again -- especially because the entire thing with Brock is a mess that he’d pretty literally dumped into Steve’s lap. 

He wants to make it right, wants to fix it. But he also has no idea where to start. “Are you gonna be in trouble?” His voice is fainter than before. It’s hard to imagine anyone who works with Steve taking Brock’s side on anything, but he knows as well as anyone that the face he uses in public is very different from the one he presents with behind closed doors. He can be charming. Convincing. 

Manipulative. 

This time when Steve laughs, it doesn’t sound quite so tired, at least. “Aw, Buck -- I’ve been in trouble pretty much my whole life. It’s not about that.” If he’s reprimanded, he’s reprimanded. It doesn’t change the fact that Steve is right and Brock is wrong, even if it puts more power in Brock’s hands and makes it harder to deal with him. But not impossible. 

“I’ll talk to my CO.” After all, Fury knows Steve and he knows Brock. He’ll want both sides of the story, which is probably why he told Steve in the first place. “Worst they can do is probably pull me off active duty, but that usually backfires when something comes up.” Like something world-ending. Which, admittedly, he would not like to happen just to get him back on a team. 

Not that what HYDRA is doing _isn’t_ potentially world-ending, in a way. It’s at least world-changing. But Steve’s not out of the game yet. “I won’t know until I deal with it. And I don’t want to do anything until I hear back from Natasha. If Brock really is affiliated with HYDRA, there’s a lot more to worry about than my designation. I think the World Security Council will see that.” 

At least, that’s what he believes. They’re what stands between HYDRA and the rest of the world, after all. But it’s still a waiting game, right now. And Steve hates waiting. Even so, “I’d rather keep the spotlight on me. Keeps it off other people.” Like Bucky. 

Bucky doesn’t like the idea of Steve getting reprimanded, especially not when he’d done it to save Bucky’s ass. And he’s not surprised that Steve doesn’t really care about that part one way or the other. Heroes rarely care about what happens to themselves, apparently. His chest feels too tight but he nods, looking down for a moment at his hands. 

He’s not really too inclined to trust entities like the _World Security Council_ or anyone else in a position of a lot of power. He’s familiar with their stance on designations and the way they use them against people. And while Steve might be the one exception -- at least hopefully he’ll be an exception to that rule -- his trust levels have decreased pretty dramatically over the last few months.

And Bucky _knows_ Steve means him when he says he’d prefer to keep the spotlight on himself instead of other people. He reaches out silently and takes the cell phone from Steve’s hand, setting it aside and then he rises to his feet, only to situate himself on Steve’s lap, knees braced on either side of his hips. “You’re a good man, Steve Rogers,” he whispers, lifting his right hand to cup his cheek. 

Steve’s lips twitch up into a smile as Bucky settles over him. “Well, I’m not in it for a reward, but… this is pretty nice,” he murmurs, sliding his hands around Bucky’s waist, tangling his fingers at the small of his back. 

“We’ll make sure the right thing happens,” he says. “We have an advantage someone like Brock or HYDRA could never understand, and that’s real trust. They’re saying what they’re saying about me because they want to undermine that, but… I trust people to know better. To know that designation isn’t everything.” At least, he really, really hopes so. 

“Besides. You’re definitely a good man, too,” Steve adds. “You know, I was kind of terrified you were an alpha when we first met,” he admits. “I already couldn’t get enough of you.” 

Steve has so much faith in people. It’s actually kind of incredible. But Bucky finds pretty much everything about him incredible. He hopes like hell that people don’t let him down. He strokes his thumb over Steve’s cheek, gaze dropping a little at the compliment. It doesn’t feel like he’s done anything to earn it. 

But his lips quirk upwards a little anyway. “I was afraid you’d think I was an alpha because I owned a store,” he admits. “But right at first I was pretty sure you had me pegged as an omega and that scared me, too.” He closes his eyes, lets the feel of Steve’s hands pressing against his back sink into his skin, warming him. It feels like he spends a lot of his time scared these days. Of one thing or another. 

“Yeah, you were… confusing,” Steve admits. “Right there on the street, I was really sure you _were_ an omega. But then when we talked about the bookstore, I figured I must’ve gotten it wrong.” His fingers tangle in the hem of Bucky’s shirt, just grasping it gently, nothing more. “I just wanted to be with you, and… yeah, it’s easier if you’re not an alpha, too. It was hard on Peggy. I couldn’tve cared less, but she’d worked so hard to get where she was, and…” 

Bucky shifts forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s as he trails off. “What can I do to help with all of this? There has to be something.”

Steve hums softly, leaning into Bucky when the other leans into him. “I dunno. Just -- be here, y’know? It feels really selfish to ask, but I just want to spend time with you for a little while and forget about everything else. I know we can’t. But I don’t want either of us to be scared for just a little while.”

Bucky presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, brushing his nose over Steve’s lightly. He’d never in his entire life wanted to Eskimo kiss anyone the way he does now. “Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Wanda’s closing the store tonight so he doesn’t feel the need to get up and start worrying about that. 

He rests his left hand loosely atop Steve’s shoulder and then lowers his mouth to kiss him, soft and sweet. “Not selfish,” he adds. He rests his right hand against his heart, feeling the steady thumping beneath it and letting it ground him in the moment. 

Steve doesn’t mind the kisses one bit, Eskimo or traditional. It feels good, and it’s exactly what he wants and just… isn’t good at asking for. He’s not used to having this -- to having someone to ask for this kind of thing, because the last time he fell in love, they couldn’t really do this. They had to walk on eggshells and hide everything and now that he doesn’t have to, it’s amazing and a little terrifying, but mostly in a good way. But also in a way that feels like if Bucky will only let Steve touch him and hold him, he’ll never want to stop. 

“Okay,” he breathes, slipping his fingers under Bucky’s shirt now, just spreading his palms flat against his back, seeing if Bucky likes that kind of touch, too. It feels closer, more intimate, than even sleeping in the same bed together, but he’s not going to push for anything more than closeness right now. That’s what he wants, and he hopes Bucky can get just as much good out of it as he can. “I’ll make some calls later, but -- later. Right now, I want you to stay here like you wanna and we can pretend we’re normal people without weird-ass lives that don’t know how to let a couple guys get a few days of peace and quiet, right?” 

He laughs, “I’m not sure if I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, or only for a day. I feel like time gets weird when you’re around, does that make sense?”

Bucky’s more than happy to oblige Steve’s request to stay there on his lap and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist for a little while. The feel of his hands against his bare skin makes him shudder in a way that’s entirely pleasant, like he’s drunk on the light touching, and a quiet, affirmative sound escapes him. He dips his head, buries his face against the side of Steve’s neck, kissing him there, not quite able to stop himself. 

“Yes,” he answers honestly, because it’s the same for him. It’s why he already wants to say certain words to Steve, but also why he hesitates to dare and utter them. He just knows he’s never felt this way for anyone else before. “Do you think it’s the soulmate thing?” His voice is hushed. 

Steve makes his own soft, appreciative noise when Bucky noses into his neck, warm lips against skin and it makes him shiver a little, despite the fact that he can also feel himself start to flush. “Maybe? I mean… I think so,” he says, pulling one hand out from beneath Bucky’s shirt to rest it on the back of his neck, fingertips just brushing where the mark should be, at his hairline. “I feel like I should know, if it’s happened to me before, but it’s not exactly the same.” 

Which, he guesses, makes sense -- the circumstances are different and Peggy and Bucky are, of course, two very different people. He wouldn’t want them to be the same. Not at all. They have similar qualities, but they are not the same person at all. 

Bucky enjoys the noise that escapes Steve at the kisses he places against his neck, so he does it again, almost whining when one of his hands pulls away from his back -- but then it rests against the back of his neck instead. And instantly he felt some of the restlessness in his bones begin to settle. At that realization, he slides his right hand up and around, returning the gesture, wondering if it would have the same effect on Steve.

The hand on the back of Steve’s neck feels _real_ \-- more real than anything in this room, like Bucky is the only thing that matters, the only thing Steve needs. It feels like every inch of Bucky is perfect, and perfectly there for him, and it’s a feeling he never wants to lose. 

“Peggy I kinda… fell head over heels for within about five seconds, and I knew it,” he goes on. “You, I… think I tried not to?” Because he’d thought Bucky was probably an alpha, and because things were so very different this time around. 

And yet, they also weren’t. “But Peggy and I always felt rushed. There was a war. This feels slower. Better, honestly. But also like I don’t need to take my time, because I already know what matters.” He doesn’t know if trying to explain it will help, or if it will make Bucky worry about trying to be like Peggy. He doesn’t want that. “You know I don’t want it to be the same, right? I don’t want _you_ to be the same. Please don’t ever worry about that.” 

Bucky listens quietly as Steve considers his question, talking it out and comparing to how things had been with Peggy. He’s surprised, maybe, that he doesn’t feel any jealousy or insecurities with the topic of conversation. Just curiosity. 

“I know,” he assures Steve, leaning his forehead against his once more. He’s relieved, still, that Steve seems to be good with going slow, because he feels like he needs that even if he doesn’t necessarily _want_ it. It feels healthier, the way that they’re doing things, slow and steady. “I’m not worried about it,” Bucky assures him quietly. “Promise.” 

Steve believes Bucky, feels grateful and relieved in equal measures, when he says he’s not worried about Peggy, about what happened before. “Okay,” he breathes, thumb brushing up into Bucky’s hairline, just seeking out every little extra way to touch. “Okay. Good. Because I feel crazy sometimes when I think about… getting you, too. And it’s not like I _have_ you, but I have a chance with you, and I don’t want to mess it up.” 

He really, really doesn’t. Which is part of why everything that’s happening outside of this moment, that he’s working hard not to think of, is doubly as worrying. Because it could take Bucky away from him, and Steve doesn’t want to lose him. Not when he just found him. 

Bucky relaxes because he can practically _feel_ Steve’s relief. Or maybe he’s just losing his mind. It isn’t like that many factual texts exist when it comes to soulmates. It’s not something he can research and read up on and just believe in the accuracy of like he could most other topics. “You do, though,” he murmurs, even though he wonders if he should. “You do have me.” It’s just a fact. Steve has him as long as he wants him and he hopes it’s a long, long time. Because the idea of not having this is unbearable. 

He knows the kind of odds they’re facing considering the amount of obstacles that have already been thrown into their path already, and they’ve only been together a couple weeks. Less than that if you take away the week Steve had been gone on a mission. It’s crazy to think about. His own fingers slide up and into Steve’s hair, his thumb brushing against the tiny raised mark there. 

The little touch to Steve’s mark feels like the tiniest, lightest static shock in the world -- so light that maybe he imagined it, but just enough to feel like he didn’t. His eyes flutter and his breath catches, and he tilts his head into Bucky’s touch, wanting him to know it’s good.

“And you’ve got me,” Steve says, quiet and insistent. “I know you know it’s not like how everybody else thinks it works. We own each other.” Because there are far too many books and movies and everything else about how alphas run the relationship, how omegas want to be possessed and alphas want to possess. Sure, there’s something in Steve that does feel awfully possessive of Bucky. And he can’t help it. But there’s also something in him that wants Bucky to have as much right to him as Steve’s got to Bucky, and he doesn’t want to hide that, either. “As much as anybody owns anybody else, anyway.” 

Bucky’s fascinated by the way he hears Steve’s breathing hitch when his fingers brush over the mark, the way his eyes close. And his eyes darken just a little at Steve’s words, a tiny thrill running through him at the declaration that they owned each other. Some part of him thinks that should be appalling, but it just...isn’t. Maybe it would be with anyone else, but Steve isn’t the same kind of alpha that Brock is. When he says they own each other, he doesn’t mean that he wants to control Bucky or put him in his place. 

“But whether it’s good or bad, I’m kinda still new to the whole… soulmates who can touch each other whenever they want thing,” Steve admits. “So I guess we’ll have to figure it out together. I don’t think I mind.” 

Bucky laughs quietly when Steve says he’s new to the soulmates who can touch each other thing. “We could make it a two-person club,” he jokes, arching his eyebrows. 

“That sounds like a club I’d want to join. Do we get cards?” Of course, that’s when Steve brushes his fingers up through Bucky’s hair, sure to catch the mark against the pad of his thumb, half to be a brat, and half because he’s curious, too. 

When Steve grazes over his own mark, a whimper escapes Bucky, almost inaudibly and completely involuntary, heart skipping in his chest. His pupils are suddenly blown wide, dazed expression on his face and he literally can’t remember what Steve had just asked him. 

Steve’s grin, at that, is wide and a little sloppy. “Feels good?” he asks, although it’s not exactly like he needs confirmation. He leans up, glad for a body that doesn’t actually require much effort at all to do that, and brushes his lips over Bucky’s, liking the look on his face, unaware that maybe his own is a bit the same. Wondering, overwhelmed, definitely lost and definitely liking it. 

He brushes his thumb over the same spot again, brushing the fingers of his other hand over the bumps of Bucky’s spine. He doesn’t need more than this, but he does need to keep touching him so he’ll keep looking just like that. “I could kiss you there?” 

He isn’t sure if that’s too intimate, or not enough, or something in between. It’s why it’s a question, instead of a statement. 

Bucky can’t help but shiver at the idea of Steve’s lips against that same spot, and he doesn’t know how a tiny mark can cause so much of a physical sensation at _all_. There has to be some sort of explanation behind it, but right now he doesn’t care all that much. He swallows heavily, nodding. 

“You can do that,” he whispers, threading the rest of his fingers in Steve’s hair, but continuing to brush his thumb over the soulmark. 

There’s probably some reason, but what really matters to Steve is the actual physical reality of it, right now, and the way that Bucky’s hand is in his hair and he says Steve can do the thing he actually really, really wants to do. 

“Okay,” he says again, and kisses Bucky one more time for good measure, then works his lips over Bucky’s cheek, his temple, his ear, because why skip all the good stuff on the way? 

The tenderness in every kiss that Steve places against his skin makes Bucky’s insides feel like melting butter and he closes his eyes and lets Steve tilt his head to the side. He thinks fleetingly that Steve has even more of an ability to hold him down by the neck, try to force a mating bite on him but that thought is gone as soon as it happens. Because this is Steve, and he’d never do that, and Bucky knows that. 

Now, Steve is aiming for Bucky’s neck like a man on a mission, gently twisting his fingers in Bucky’s hair just so he can tilt his head and give Steve access to the right spot to brush his lips over, feeling a strange little jolt again, this time almost like he’d pressed his lips to a frozen light pole, but if that kind of feeling could be good. It’s a little shock of something fresh, like breathing in the tang of ozone after a storm. 

“Feel good to you?” he asks, tilting his face to nose at the spot instead. Just in case. 

Bucky shivers in Steve’s arms at the tiny electric shock that goes through him when he grazes his lips over the mark, and even when he brushes his nose over it. “Yes,” he whispers, feeling breathless and like any second he might go hurtling over the edge of a cliff. He tightens his fingers in Steve’s hair just a bit, scraping his teeth over his lower lip. 

Something in Steve, some last little bit of tension, relaxes and lets go when Bucky says it feels good. When he knows they’re both feeling the same -- if not exactly the same, then enough the same that Steve can enjoy the fact that Bucky’s enjoying the way Steve is touching him. And Steve has to admit that he really, really likes the way Bucky fists his fingers a little tighter in his hair, too. 

“That’s good,” he murmurs, not really paying attention to what he’s saying, admittedly, tilting his head so he can mouth at the mark a little more -- testing, seeing if it all feels good, or if some things feel better than others. Of course, he laughs softly a minute later, saying, “Except if I pay too much attention here, everyone’s gonna know there’s something, I guess.” It’s not like he’s trying to leave a mark, not on top of the one that’s already there, but he can only pay a spot so much attention before it’s going to turn a little red. 

Bucky doesn’t really care who sees whatever marks Steve leaves on him. He doesn’t have anyone who cares about him one way or the other, aside from Wanda, and well. She’s a teenager. She knows what hickeys are. She also knows he and Steve are living together, even if technically it’s temporary at this point. He doesn’t want to think about that part right now, as a little shiver goes through him as Steve noses his way down his neck.

Bucky doesn’t stop him, so Steve sighs softly against the skin, nosing his way a little further down Bucky’s neck, but he hits a little patch of rougher skin right when he realizes -- 

“Oh -- oh, shit, sorry.” That’s where Brock tried to bite Bucky before. And that is not at _all_ what Steve wants him to be thinking about; his first instinct is to pull away, but he fights it, not wanting Bucky to think that it’s because Steve is disgusted. Or, well, he _is_ disgusted, but not with Bucky. Not over something like that, when he knows Bucky didn’t have a choice, and Brock didn’t want it for any reason that’s good. 

“Sorry,” he says again, instead twisting his head so his forehead is pressed to Bucky’s neck, innocuous and hopefully submissive. “Sorry, I didn’t mean --”

A quiet sound escapes Bucky as Steve hits that scar. He draws in a slow breath, knowing immediately that Steve realizes what it is when he starts apologizing. “Shh,” he murmurs, stroking the back of his neck. The feel of Steve’s head pressing against his throat makes his insides feel warm, tender. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Stevie.” 

Steve still feels a little stupid and embarrassed. He’s not sure why, only that he probably should have been thinking when he’d started making his way down Bucky’s neck. If not for that reason, then maybe just because that’s where people _do_ make mating bites, and he’d never try to do that without someone’s full consent. 

Well. Without Bucky’s full consent -- because he can’t imagine being this close to anyone else but Bucky ever again, whether it’s the soulmark talking or not. Part of him thinks the soulmarks are just the icing on the cake. He wants to believe that, wants to believe that they have free will. That they feel _better_ because of the soulmarks when they’re together, but not that the soulmarks mean they _have_ to be together. He’s believed in soulmarks all his life, like he told Bucky -- but he’s always hated the stories that made them seem like fate or compulsion, like people didn’t have a choice. He wants to have a choice. That makes it even more precious, when he chooses it. When someone chooses him. 

Still, he doesn’t move for a moment, maybe feeling a little guilty that Bucky’s touch is so soothing, when Steve’s the one who just messed up. “I would never,” he says quietly. “I know you know, but I would never. Brock is going to pay for what he did.” He doesn’t care that Brock tried to register a complaint against him. That’s just the mark of a guilty man, as far as Steve’s concerned. He’s trying to cover his ass out of spite. But spite has nothing on righteousness. 

Bucky moves his hand to cup Steve’s cheek, gently tugging his face up so he can look at him. So Steve can look _at_ Bucky when he utters his next words. “I do know,” he says softly, solemnly. “You’re nothing like Brock Rumlow, Steve.” He couldn’t be more different from Brock if he was actively _trying._ Brock is a snake in the grass, and Bucky sees that in all the ways he hadn’t at the start of the thing between them. It’s even more vividly clear now, because he’s with Steve, and there’s something good, something pure, to compare it with. 

And he doesn’t doubt that Steve’s going to make sure Brock gets what he deserves. But -- 

“Hey.” Bucky searches his eyes. “I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to cause you more trouble. Okay? If it turns out that he’s the one who planted the bugs, we’ll find a way to nail his ass to the wall for it, but -- I don’t want you putting yourself at risk personally or professionally any more than you already have. Not for me.” 

Steve’s lips twitch up a little; “Uh, I have some bad news for you. You might be soulmark matched with the wrong guy, pal.” 

It’s not that he wants to make things difficult. But he wants to make sure Brock doesn’t get away with what he’s done, with trying to bond someone against their will _twice_ , with bugging Bucky’s apartment and with blackmailing him into whatever he wants. He has a feeling that last bit is probably out the window, now, but he knows that Brock might not think so. And now, someone’s essentially trying to blackmail Steve. It all feels very much like the same hand is doing both, and if it’s _not_ Brock Rumlow, then Steve will apologize to the guy’s face, but he’s not really willing to bet that he’ll have to. 

“What if I like causing trouble?” he asks, trying to tease, but it’s maybe a little true. For all that he’d said maybe he liked getting punched before, he also knows that stirring up trouble is often the only way to get people to _think_ about something. Things don’t change when everything seems fine and trouble-free. “But -- I don’t want to cause trouble for _you_ ,” he adds, because he certainly does realize that if Bucky’s going to end up in the public eye… Steve should maybe try to restrain himself a little, on his behalf. 

Bucky’s silent for a moment, torn between amusement and worry. Steve isn’t the only one who likes to shake things up because things _need_ to be shaken up. He’s been quietly, steadily working to help do some shaking up of his own, even if it’s not _on_ his own. “I need to show you something,” he whispers. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s mouth before reluctantly climbing off his lap and rising to his feet. He rakes his hand through his short hair and then moves to kneel down on the floor beside the area rug that’s covering part of the floor in the living room area. 

Steve hums softly when Bucky says he needs to show him something; he feels a little colder when Bucky climbs off him, but he leans forward into the touch to his hair, hunching over a little more, elbows on his knees, admittedly a bit confused when Bucky goes to lift up the corner of the rug. 

But he’s only confused for a moment. 

Bucky carefully folds the rug back, glancing at Steve and pressing his lips together before his fingers seek out the indention in one of the boards, lifting it up and out of the way before doing the same to the one right beside it. He rocks back onto his heels and carefully pulls out a laptop, which he sets on the coffee table, pulling the charger and the flash drive out, as well. He leaves the gun in its place even if he knows Steve can see it from his vantage point. 

Once a soldier, always a soldier, he figures. He sets the boards back in place and covers them up with the rug once more, exhaling as he moves to sit down beside Steve on the couch once more. “I might like causing a little trouble, too,” he admits. 

“How’s that?” Steve asks, interested and curious, eyes flicking from Bucky to the laptop. Granted, he doesn’t know exactly what Bucky means, but he’s seen people like Natasha and Tony cause enough trouble with screens and keyboard to know that a simple computer isn’t always as innocuous as it looks. Especially not one that someone keeps hidden. 

Bucky flips the laptop open, turns it on and glances sideways to meet Steve’s eyes momentarily. When the screen comes up, he types in a complicated password and waits for it to get going before clicking on an icon on the screen that logs him onto the dark web. Then he plugs in his flash drive, typing in a series of commands before drawing in a breath and connecting to a website. 

Steve sits quietly while Bucky gets the laptop set up, figuring that asking questions prematurely, even if he’s curious, will just get in the way of what Bucky’s doing. It’s innocent-looking enough -- a website that features a forum on topics like art history, music, and writing. At the bottom of the forum is a button that simply says “Feedback.” Bucky clicks it and types in a username and password on that screen, too. 

And suddenly there’s a branding across the top of the screen: ORC. “Omega Rights Committee,” he tells Steve in a hushed tone, sneaking a glance at him. 

Nothing _seems_ too serious, until Bucky gets to the last screen and Steve scoots forward a little more, peering at the computer like it will tell him everything he definitely wants to know, now. “What is it?” he asks, watching the screen a little more intently, eyes flicking to Bucky’s. “Is this…” 

He’s quiet a moment, because it’s at least a little self-explanatory, and it’s not like Steve had never gone to a rally or a meeting or a speech when he was growing up. On the contrary, he’d got to a lot of demonstrations, because there were a lot, if a person knew the right people and the right places. “What does the group do?” He doesn’t believe Bucky would be a part of something violent, but he does want to know what it is he seems to be a part of, that has to be such a secret. 

Bucky takes a deep breath, licking his lips absently. “It’s -- a worldwide network made of omegas and their allies. Grassroots. Purpose is to achieve equality among all designations,” he tells him, knowing Steve will be on board with that. It’s the reason he knows he can show this to him without worrying about him telling anyone else. “Buried deep on the dark web, on a site that most alphas wouldn’t glance twice at.” Because of course _most_ of the resistance they were met with was from alphas, who didn’t _want_ omegas to have equal rights, like it would somehow make their own rights less important. 

“It started long before the internet existed,” he says, but he knows Steve knows that part, too. Because all those rallies and speeches and demonstrations had been around back in Steve’s day. “The American group was disbanded in the fifties, when it was deemed a violation of the constitution.” There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice. “A lot of the other segments were disbanded around that time, too, but not all of them. The Canadian branch kept going strong and as things go, they’ve been the first to make actual progress with laws and societal shifts in view regarding omegas and what they’re allowed to do. There’s a law in progress that -- if it gets signed, omegas will be able to own their own businesses.” He smiles and turns his attention back to the laptop. 

Steve nods a little as Bucky speaks, absorbing that and -- well, yeah. He has a little experience with the “before the internet existed” part, and somehow he’d never thought… but it makes sense. People use the internet for everything, these days. And it would be a way to connect instantly across state and country lines that just hadn’t even been a possibility, when he had attended all those rallies. Everything he’d gone to had been extremely regional -- and extremely secret. Except for the few that had been broken up by the police. 

“So it’s… people sharing ideas on how to do that. And how to get people to understand? That’s what we used to do,” he admits, suddenly feeling old, and old-fashioned. “I was never really very good at it, but… I was never really very good at subtle.” 

He smiles a bit helplessly, but he remembers lectures on how to slowly, gently bring alphas around, how to make them think they’d thought of the idea, and Steve just hadn’t really operated that way. Being loud in an effort to change policies and acting up on what was right, those are more up his alley. Which is why he had always been a little disappointed in the rallies he’d attended, but is very interested in this, because, “People are more outspoken now, though. That could be a good thing. Getting a law passed like that anywhere in the world shows that it can work.” 

Bucky nods at that, but his lips quirk up in a tiny smile at Steve’s admission. “I can’t imagine you not being subtle, Stevie.” He nudges him lightly with his knee. “But it’s not just brainstorming. It’s more -- a lot of it’s networking. People who are willing to do some of the nitty gritty work that others can’t for whatever reason. There are safehouses for omegas fleeing from their significant other when they’ve been bonded or married or both.” All of which is also illegal. “People who help them relocate, start over. People who know how to get a hold of suppressants, others who do other kinds of assistance with family planning.” 

He lets out a breath. “There’s a lot.” 

Steve’s eyebrows rise, because, “Yeah. That is a lot. That’s --” He blows out a breath, too, leaning back against the couch again. That’s a hell of a lot more resources than anyone he ever knew had, even though of course people had done things back then to help, too. People had housed omegas who were in bad relationships. People had gotten illegal suppressants easily enough. People had found ways to help, but this sounds so much bigger. So much better. 

“And you help them? You’re part of this?” It seems obvious, but it makes his heart feel like it’s growing exponentially, to know Bucky is struggling, himself, but also trying to be a part of something bigger. To try and make the world a better place. Yes, he’s trying to keep his shop, and it’s stupid and unfair that he could lose it in the first place. But he’s doing his best not to struggle alone.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers quietly. “I’m a little limited in what I’m able to do, but I help connect people with others in the area who can help them. Or even locating people out of the area, wherever they’re wanting to go. There’s an entire section of businesses either owned by supportive alphas and betas who are willing to help omegas in need, or owned by alphas or betas but run by omegas…” He glances at Steve sideways. “Like Stark Industries. Everyone went kind of nuts when Mr. Stark turned his business over to be run by Pepper Potts. The community’s been really active ever since then.” 

The next question, for Steve, is also obvious: “Can I help?” 

He doesn’t know if he’s too high-profile for this kind of thing. There are some very significant disadvantages, and he knows everything right now is delicate, if the government is going to have to deal with the rumors -- are they even rumors, if they’re true? -- about him that are only going to escalate, he’s sure, until they’re shut down. Part of him, the small, confrontational part, hates that they really are just going to disappear, when they just ask him for a blood DNA test. Maybe he could just explain, tell the truth -- But that might be a whole other can of worms. He’s not sure what would help the most. But he wants to help. And he’d been so wrapped up in his own little world of good guys and bad guys ever since the ice, that he hadn’t realized he could be doing more, and that’s not a feeling he likes. 

Bucky reaches out and lets his hand rest on Steve’s arm. “Yeah. I think you can. It just depends on what you’re interested in doing. We’re always glad to have support.” And having support from _two_ Avengers -- well. That was something. 

It feels weird, for a second, the way Bucky says _We’re always glad to have support,_ because -- Steve isn’t part of the _we_. It’s not like he can just forget he’s an alpha, but it’s just… weird, being on the other side of things. Weird, being on the outside looking in, being the one with all the power in the situation, and it jars him for a moment. 

But, “I don’t know,” he says, quietly. “I want to do whatever I can. I mean, I’ve been…” He falls silent for a long moment; this isn’t something he wants to admit. But it’s something that maybe Bucky would understand, in a way most other people wouldn’t. Can’t. 

“I feel like since I woke up, I’ve been… sleepwalking, kinda. Like this is just a really elaborate dream, or like -- I don’t know. Disconnected. Like all I was good for was the work.” Because he had nothing else left, no one from the home he’d left behind except for Peggy, and she’s been slipping away since long before he woke up. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I want to stand for something. Not just… whatever I used to stand for. It’s not the same.” 

He doesn’t know if that thing could or should be omega rights, but this whole situation has got him thinking. Maybe whoever is trying to take him down just opened a door for him, instead. 

Bucky sits back against the couch, watching Steve carefully as he speaks. His own chest tightens as he describes how he’s felt since he’d woke up from the ice. “Steve, you give people hope,” he says quietly. “Whether or not you decide to jump on board with ORC or something else, you _do_ stand for something already. And -- hell, you’ve changed my life for the better and I’ve only known you a couple weeks.” 

“I feel outdated,” Steve murmurs, like what he stood for isn’t really relevant anymore, given the state of things right now. “And I don’t want to be.” He shrugs a little, not sure if that’s even the right word to use, but not sure how else to put it. He just knows that he doesn’t want to be outdated. _Or_ unapproachable. Maybe working covert ops has just made him feel a little more disconnected than he was, before. 

Bucky reaches out, rests his hand on Steve’s knee. “Whatever you decide you want to do -- I’m behind you. A hundred percent.” Bucky holds his breath for a second. “I’m with you till the end of the line.” 

Steve glances down, at Bucky, reaching over to put a hand over his. “That means a lot, actually. I mean, I want to make sure it’s something we can both live with. If I go out and do something big and it blows up in my face… that’s not what I want, either. I want to be able to come back. And stay with you.” It’s weird, having someone else to worry about before he makes a decision. Weird, but not bad. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, even after only a few weeks. “Till the end of the line, if that’s what you want. I want it, too.” 

“Then let’s make sure it doesn’t blow up,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He shifts on the couch, tucking one of his legs beneath him, angling his body more toward Steve’s. He’s been wondering since the day he’d met Steve, and even more so since they’d started dating, what he has to offer the other man, and honestly -- there’s not a lot. He’s just this side of poor and constantly under worry of either losing his shop or not being able to pay the rent for it, so there’s not much he has to offer financially. It’s not like he can do much to keep Steve _safe_ from anything, nor does Steve really _need_ his protection even if he could. 

He can listen, can support; neither of those is a problem for him. 

There are other things he can offer, other _skills_ \-- and eventually he does plan to put those to use, but a good relationship can’t be based on sex alone, even though it can certainly help. But getting caught up on things, helping Steve fill in whatever blanks that are still -- well. _Blank._ That’s something he can help out with. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky says quietly, sincerely. He slides his arms around Steve, rests his forehead against his temple. “Because it is what I want.” And that Steve wants it, too, means more than he probably realizes. 

Steve doesn’t need Bucky to give him anything specific; already, Bucky’s given him someone he likes spending time with, someone he’s comfortable with, someone who’s _not_ an Avenger or a team member or a coworker, basically, and someone who doesn’t act differently around him. He likes Bucky for Bucky, for the things he loves -- his family business -- and for the things he cares about -- doing what he can to make life better for people who don’t have it as well off as others. There’s nothing there he would change; he would take away the trauma, if he could, but even then, Bucky’s made it through that, and that means something, too. 

Just like Bucky wants him around, wants to stick around, and that means _everything_. 

“Can I look at the website? Later,” Steve asks, because right now, Bucky is here on the couch with him, holding him, and Steve’s hands snake around Bucky’s waist, tugging him a little closer. “I should probably catch up on everything I missed. Although I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same. Life’s kinda funny that way, sometimes, but whenever I try to explain, people just usually give me weird looks.” 

“Of course,” Bucky agrees easily. Admittedly, he hasn’t checked in for a couple days with the network, but everyone tends to take a day or two off when life gets in the way. It happens. He lets Steve tug him closer, shifts so he’s on his lap once more, comfortable and warm. All he can see is Steve, all he can _smell_ is Steve and he’s good with this, good with just letting himself be wrapped up and wrapping Steve up in his arms in return. 

“People are weird,” he adds quietly. He strokes his fingers down the back of Steve’s neck. “Don’t let it get to you.” He pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead. 

“Yeah, they are, Steve agrees, with a little laugh that sounds pretty pleased, as Bucky crawls back into his lap and touches lips to his forehead. “But you’re not. You’re perfect.” He absolutely means that; Bucky is funny and brave and kind and smart and so, so many other things. “I’m really glad I got lost that day.” Because if he hadn’t, he would never have met Bucky, and it feels like that one moment is so important, and so precious, and it would have been so easy to miss. 

\---

They spend the next few days at Bucky’s place, as planned; of course, Bucky works in the shop, and sometimes Steve comes out to join him when it’s slow. He doesn’t mind helping out, and he doesn’t care about getting paid. He just cares about spending time with Bucky, and he isn’t going to waste the time they have. 

Of course, sometimes Bucky doesn’t need help or actively needs Steve _not_ to hang around distracting him. He spends the rest of his time on Bucky’s computer looking at the omega rights forums, or texting Natasha, or taking phone calls from Fury and trying to deal with the multiple situations that have risen up to try to eclipse his life, from Rumlow’s complaint to the increasing news media coverage of the rumors about his designation. 

The last is something that disgusts him -- the amount of time every channel seems to spend speculating on what the rumors mean, what happens if they’re true, and sometimes going off onto wild tangents, saying things like he’s faked being an alpha all along, or that the military has been changing designations for decades, or a hundred other half-cocked ideas that are all more bullshit crazy than the last. 

And eventually, he can’t handle it from Bucky’s place any longer. He’s had more than one secure video chat with Fury, but eventually the man calls and tells him he needs to come in. Steve hasn’t brought up what he and Natasha suspect about Rumlow, simply because it’s only a suspicion. But he _has_ brought up every single thing he has seen or knows Brock Rumlow has actually done, and while Fury says he can essentially table the complaint, he still needs Steve to come in on the record so they can handle it. This, they can’t fudge or make an exception for. This, he says, is from the Secretary of State, who’s made it clear that Steve is not above the rules, not in a case like this. And Steve… Steve can respect that. 

So, while Bucky opens up the shop, Steve gets himself cleaned up and heads out. Bucky’s with a customer at the time, so Steve just tosses him a smile and a mock salute as he passes quietly through the store, headed for his bike. He’s texted Natasha to let her know someone should stay with Bucky while he’s gone, and she says she’s on her way. Bucky said he’d be fine until Natasha gets there, and Steve knows he can handle himself. Still, he doesn’t think he’ll stop feeling just the tiniest bit sick until Natasha confirms she arrived. 

He pulls into the SHIELD parking garage and is just pulling out his phone to see whether Natasha’s with Bucky yet when the garage elevator doors open, and Fury barks his name like he’s been waiting. Maybe he has; Steve has to pocket the phone and jog for the doors without really getting a good look at the screen. 

“I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” Fury informs him with raised eyebrows when Steve steps onto the elevator and the doors close. “It was starting to hurt my feelings, Rogers.” There’s a hint of wryness in his voice as the elevator ascends to the tenth floor where his office is. 

“Aw, that would just be rude, and I’m never rude,” Steve puts in, maybe a little sarcastically, but he’s not looking forward to this, and he can’t imagine Fury is, either. But it is better to get this over with, get his comments on the record and just be done with it. A formal complaint really doesn’t mean much, but it does have to be dealt with. “Maybe I just wanted to take a little of that time off that I’m owed.” 

And, not that he cares in the least, but he asks, “How’s Rumlow?” 

“Recovering from a broken jaw,” Fury responds, nonplussed. “Had surgery, metal plates currently attached to his face to keep it in place. Taking some time off work. Unpaid, by the way, which he’s filed a complaint about, too.” It’s obvious whose side Fury’s on in the situation. “How’s Barnes?” 

Steve can’t help the tiny, tiny pang of smugness he feels at the answer, any more than he can help the not-so-tiny pang of protectiveness he feels when Fury turns things around on him -- not that he’s surprised Fury knows where he is. If the media does, of course Nick Fury does. 

“Better, now that no one’s trying to force a mating bond on him,” Steve says, quietly, not quite a growl. “Brock and I never saw eye to eye, but I hadn’t thought he was the kind of person who’d do that.” But he is, and Steve is willing to go on the record to say it, which is exactly why he’s here. 

But he can’t go on the record with other things until they know for sure. So, one thing at a time. “I’m sorry to make this a big official thing.” 

Fury glances at him sideways as the elevator door slides open and leads the way down the hall to his office, opening the door and waiting for Steve to step inside before he closes it and moves to sit at his desk. “It’s what I’m here to handle.” He pulls out a few pieces of paperwork and a pen. “Mostly just need you to read over and sign some things.” 

“I’m sure it’s your favorite part of the job,” Steve says, not without some empathy, crossing the room to sink into the chair across from Fury’s desk. But while red tape is one of the things Steve doesn’t like about government work, in this case, actually dealing with things by the book is just the best option. It gets everything on the record, especially about Brock Rumlow, and that could be valuable. He reaches across the desk for the papers, pulling them closer to start scanning. 

But he doesn’t really get the chance; just as he starts, there’s a knock on the door, followed immediately by the sound of it opening, and -- that’s the Secretary of State, Pierce, right there, in Fury’s doorway, flanked by… is that the rest of STRIKE? 

“Oh, good -- Captain, I need you to come with me,” Pierce says genially, though his expression looks a bit like Steve’s must have, a moment ago -- firm, but empathetic. “I’m sure you’ve seen just how bad all the media reports and inquiries have been getting. It’s time we address this. I need you to come with me and submit to a DNA test. Once the results are released, I think we’ll all be in the clear.” 

Steve frowns, glancing between Fury and the secretary. 

Fury frowns, too, looking a little wary as he sits forward in his seat. “I don’t see any reason to submit _Captain America_ to medical testing because of some rumors. Sir.” His eyes narrow and he stares intently at Pierce. 

Pierce just smiles helplessly; “Unfortunately, if it were anyone else, I would agree. But Captain America needs to be a symbol that people can trust. Rumors are one thing, but if those rumors start to undermine his authority, they undermine the authority of the entire government for which he stands.” 

_An entire government that won’t let omegas have the same rights as everyone else_ , Steve wants to say, but one of the dark-clad figures behind Pierce shifts, and the secretary says, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. I have a signed order here from the White House.” 

Steve blows out a breath, setting the unsigned paperwork on Fury’s desk. “It’s fine,” he says, even though it’s really not. Of course, he can prove he’s an alpha, and the DNA test isn’t the problem. It’s the _principle _of the thing. “But I don’t know that I want to stand for a government that forces people to submit to DNA tests just because of media rumors,” he says, turning and heading for the door.__

__“Take it up with the president, I’m afraid, son,” Pierce says, as the doors close behind them as soon as Steve’s out in the hall. And then two pairs of hands come around his own, and there’s the buzzing hum of magnetic cuffs locking around his hands._ _

___That_ stops Steve in his tracks, staring openly at the secretary and the paper in his hand. “Did the president order this, too?” he asks archly, as the members of STRIKE -- his team -- take a few steps closer, and someone pulls out a stun baton like they think they’re going to have to use it. “I’m already coming with you.” _ _

__“And you’ll stay with us -- here -- for the forty-eight hours it takes for the results to come back, I’m afraid,” Pierce says. “There’s just no precedent for what could be an omega potentially lying his way into one of the military’s most powerful positions. I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but we just need to be sure.”_ _


	8. Chapter 8

Hours have passed since Steve had set off to go into SHIELD that morning to talk to his director and do -- well. Whatever it is that they were going to make him do, whether it was release some sort of statement to the press about the rumors, or force him into a leave of absence because of Brock, or any other possible outcomes that he’d been trying his best not to pry out of Natasha. She sits perched on the countertop as he works on closing the shop down for the evening. He’s been trying to tell her all day that he’ll be fine, that she doesn’t have to stay and keep him company, but she’d insisted. He’d bought her lunch at a little sandwich shop on the way to the post office to pick up his next package of suppressants. 

Not that he told her that’s what he was picking up. He likes her well enough, trusts her in a hesitant kind of way, but the only person he trusts enough to share that detail with is Steve, and even then, he knows Steve had concerns about their side effects. 

Bucky had felt himself slipping into something more akin to autopilot the longer the day had gone on without word from Steve. He’s done his best not to worry, but it’s still there all the same, itching beneath his skin in a way that he can’t really scratch to relieve. It’s taking everything he has not to ask Natasha to text their director and see what’s going on. 

“You hungry?” he asks as he finishes sweeping up the floor, already having flipped the sign to _Closed_ for the night. 

Natasha, although Bucky can’t tell, is a little itchy herself, if for completely different reasons. She actually _has_ texted Fury twice, but he’s been maddeningly cryptic, even with her, and it’s -- exactly that. Maddening. Steve’s been unresponsive all day, but that’s nothing new. Sometimes the fossil forgets to check his phone. It’s cute, except when it’s not. 

But Natasha is nothing if not good at distracting herself from the things that bother her and focusing on her work. Admittedly, her work is not all that comforting right now, but when is it ever? 

She’s finding out a lot of things about Brock Rumlow and, by connection, most of the members of STRIKE that aren’t Steve and herself. And she is not liking what she’s finding. 

She glances up from her Starkpad as Bucky finishes up, watching him with an assessing gaze, noting the little signs of agitation even as he’s trying to be hospitable. She smiles, shrugging a little and swinging her feet a bit, careful not to scuff the counter with her heels. “I could be. If you want to order in.” 

She’s not about to take the two of them out of here when she now knows just how bad an idea that could be. 

Bucky smiles despite himself at her response. “Well, I don’t feel like going out again or cooking, so ordering in works for me.” He’ll assume Steve is going to be back at some point in the near future considering the late hour, and he’ll order enough for all three of them. “You feeling pizza, Chinese, or deli?” 

He doesn’t really care one way or the other personally; he’s not all that hungry himself. He hadn’t been all that hungry at lunch, either. His nerves have tied his stomach up in knots that he knows won’t untangle until he sees for himself that Steve is okay, that nothing too bad is going to happen to him because of Bucky, or because of the stupid -- and yet completely true -- rumors flying around about him. 

He sets the broom by the front door and rakes a hand through his hair. Really, having Nat around for company hasn’t been half as nerve-wracking as he’d assumed it would be. For the most part she’s been quiet, working on her tablet and not bothering him while he struggled to focus and do his own work. 

Natasha hums thoughtfully, ultimately deciding on “Chinese. Have you seen Steve try to eat with chopsticks?” Granted, he’s much better now. He’s not Clint levels of bad. But it’s still funny, sometimes. He gets very intense and focused on how much food he can scoop into his mouth with two tiny sticks. A girl’s got to get her entertainment where she can. 

“Just order whatever. I’m not picky,” she says, right as her phone vibrates in her pocket and she stops swinging her legs to pull it out, eyes flicking over the screen -- 

“Okay.” Bucky pulls his phone out, looking up the number for a restaurant a couple blocks from there and right before he hits the number to place the call, it’s like everything in Natasha’s body goes completely still all at once. 

“Bucky,” she says. “I have some bad news.” 

He hears her words and it feels like the floor drops out from beneath him. She doesn’t strike him as the type to be dramatic, which means whatever the news is, it _is_ as bad as she’s making it sound. 

“What?” His voice doesn’t waver, even though his chest feels tight. 

Natasha is typing rapidly even as she glances up at him, and while her expression is mostly as neutral as ever, there’s something in it that’s not usually there. Something hard and cold. “The President of the United States has ordered Steve Rogers detained and tested to prove that he’s an alpha. It’s being carried out by the Secretary of State’s staff, and Steve is going to remain in custody until the results are released.” 

Bucky’s breathing hitches momentarily and he suddenly feels a little light-headed. He sinks slowly down into one of the chairs not far from where Natasha’s perched. “Why would they _detain_ him for that? It’s a simple blood test,” he says faintly. “It takes two minutes. Do they really believe this shit?” There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice. 

“They’re sending the results to two independent labs. No room for mistakes,” Natasha says, voice calm, but there’s something grim underneath it. “Here’s my question: Would you believe it, unless it had happened to you?” What this reeks of, to her, is HYDRA. HYDRA’s hand, somewhere, somehow, and the fact that she doesn’t know _exactly_ where is irksome, to say the least. 

Because it all seems… very extreme, to her. Not that she’s not used to extreme government action, but the rumors are just that -- rumors -- and Steve would hardly be the first Avenger to have rumors questioning their integrity. Hell, Tony Stark used to show up in the tabloids weekly; granted, it was _before_ he was an Avenger, but… this still seems disproportionate. Unfortunately, Fury is confirming the situation while she sits there. With a tone that, even over text, says he feels the same way she does. Detaining Captain America for a public witch hunt seems strange. Which, frankly, seems worse to her than the actual detention itself. 

Steve _is_ an alpha and the results will show exactly that, thank God. But something about this feels all too shady to Bucky, too. “Is this even _legal?_ ” It’s not. He knows it’s _not_ , but since when has that _ever_ stopped a government figure in a position of authority? Never. 

“Yes, and no,” Natasha says, with just a hint of a sigh. “It’s legal because the President is Commander in Chief of the armed forces, and Steve is still technically enlisted in the Army. He’s essentially being forced to follow orders from his CO.” 

On the other hand, “There is absolutely no precedent for handling this kind of thing. But there are laws about omegas hiding their designation, and laws about enlisting in the Army under a falsified persona.” 

“Surprised they don’t brand us with an O across our foreheads so everyone knows,” he mumbles, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. Because hiding his designation is essentially what Steve had done, back in the 40’s -- but he also hadn’t done it on his own. People had known. The _government_ had been in on it. Had wiped out Steve’s records and made it impossible for anyone to know that history unless Steve told them. 

It shouldn’t matter. Steve’s an alpha and any blood test will show that even if the very idea of him being held hostage and forced to submit to medical testing makes Bucky’s skin crawl. Makes nausea churn in his gut. It hits far, far too close to home, and it’s hard to actually focus on the things Natasha’s saying. 

Natasha narrows her eyes a little at Bucky at that, thoughtful. There’s still something that bothers her about what she read in those initial files, about the attempts to recreate the serum in what they did to Bucky. “He’s never said anything to you, has he? About the serum changing him like that?” After all, Steve can be very loose-lipped around people he trusts. Even when he shouldn’t be. 

Steve had told Bucky, but not Natasha. And this isn’t his secret to share, so Bucky just shakes his head. “How long is this is gonna take? Are they saying?” He’s chewing his lower lip, barely cognizant of the fact that Alpine is winding herself around his feet. 

Natasha can tell he’s hesitating, not telling her something. But she had thought he might not; she doesn’t push for now, despite the fact that she wants to know what it is. It’s less important than the immediate situation at hand. And she can certainly always ask Steve, later. She plans to. 

“Forty-eight hours, at least,” she says. “He’s being kept in custody, presumably at SHIELD, until then. I assume his phone has probably been confiscated or he’d be telling us this himself.” She sighs. “I hope your couch is comfortable, Barnes.” Because she’s not leaving until she can either find someone to relieve her, or Steve is released. 

***

“I don’t like this. We should be doing something,” Clint says bluntly as his gaze flickers back and forth between the numerous dropdown TV screens in Tony’s office at Stark Industries. His arms are folded across his chest. “It’s been 24 hours.” His voice is tense as he stares at the ticker-tape subtitle lines. 

_”Captain America: War Hero? Or Ultimate Deceiver?”_

He snorts in disgust. “How fast they fucking forgot that if it wasn’t for Cap and the rest of us, the entire planet would be bowing down to alien overlords.” 

“C’mon, Barton, you know anyone born less than thirty years ago has an attention span of five seconds, max,” Tony says, from where he’s simultaneously tipping the chair he’s sitting in back precariously far on two legs and frantically tapping on a Starkpad. “They’d forget their own names if they didn’t have them entered into their six social media accounts.” 

The truth is, though, Tony only gets this snappish when he’s upset, and boy, is he upset. He’s upset that the serum might have had effects _he didn’t know about_ , and upset that Steve would neither confirm nor deny it (which, admittedly, makes him think it’s true), and upset that apparently holding people hostage for DNA testing to see if they’re actually what they say they are is a thing that the government does now. He’s not buying this shit about it being an Army internal investigation. That makes it sound nice on paper, but in reality it sounds like bullshit. 

“That’s not actually the point,” Banner says, a bit subdued -- probably because he’s trying very hard _not_ to get worked up about this. “The point is the precedent they’re setting.” 

“Exactly, Green Man,” Tony says, without pausing what he’s doing. “It’s the precedent they’re setting, it’s the fact that Cap’s being held in a _jail_ cell, and the entire frigging world is salivating at the latest juicy gossip.” His voice is bitter as he lets the chair fall forward and gets up, pacing a few steps before he huffs and then stops in front of another one of the screens. 

“None of this makes any sense,” Maria Hill interjects from where she’s leaning against the wall in the back. “Why make a rumor that Cap’s an omega in the first place? What’s it accomplishing? Who’s benefiting from it?”

“Are we still sure it’s a rumor,” Tony says, in a way that sounds more like a statement than a question. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s not a rumor. Maybe it’s a reality. Maybe they’re trying to run damage control because they know it’s not actually a rumor.” 

“Tony,” Bruce sighs. “It’s a rumor. It’s a very, very imaginative rumor, but it’s a rumor. You can’t change someone’s designation.” 

“Yours changes.” 

“And then it changes back,” Bruce says, but -- there’s something, a hitch in his voice, maybe, and it’s a moment before he says, “Based on the serum.” 

“Exactly,” Tony says, and then finally looks up, focusing in on Hill. “It takes Cap out of the game, if he’s been lying this whole time. An omega Captain America? It’ll never fly. He’ll never get _out_ of that jail cell.” 

“So someone who knows more than the rest of us released something anonymously to the press, knowing it would require an investigation and if it’s found to be true, Cap’s out of the way. Again. Who stands to benefit the most?” She arches an eyebrow. 

“HYDRA,” Clint says without looking at any of them. “Evil alien overlords. Criminals in general.” 

“I think we all know that Steve’s only going to put up with this for so long. That cell won’t hold him. The moment he decides he’s done playing nice, he’ll be out. And then he’ll be a fugitive.” Hill sighs. 

“You know, he’s a lot less uptight than we’ve been led to believe,” Tony puts in, thoughtfully. “And that the first three hours with him led me to believe. He was really boring for at least three hours.” 

But he’s not arguing the point. 

“So, the question becomes, are we going to aid and abet Captain America, who may or may not either be an omega or have once been an omega, or are we going to be good little girls and boys and put him back in his cell?” Tony asks, going back to the table and picking up his Starkpad. “I think you can guess where I stand on this one.” 

“It… is a very dangerous precedent, if we let it stand,” Bruce puts in. 

Clint tosses a look over his shoulder at the rest of them. “I vote aid and abet,” he responds without missing a beat. “And I’ll put in Nat’s vote for the same in absentia.” 

“Where _is_ Agent Romanoff?” Hill questions. It isn’t the first time she’s wondered since she’d arrived at this meeting. 

“Cap has her on a personal assignment,” Clint says vaguely, returning his gaze to the screens once more.

“That doesn’t sound like something I absolutely need to hear more about this very second,” Tony says, actually looking up from the tablet again, zeroing in on Clint. “He doesn’t _have_ a personal life, didn’t you know? He might be less boring than advertised but I’m pretty sure we’d know if he had a personal… anything.” 

“I wouldn’t bet on _that._ ” Clint’s eyebrows rise and he glances at Tony. “I don’t know a lot of details, but she’s keeping an eye on someone for him. Someone he’s worried about getting hurt.” He shrugs. “Sounds like he’s got more of a personal life than we know.” 

“Sounds like Agent Romanoff is pretty in the know,” Hill comments, head cocked to the side. 

“Well, if she ever shows up, we’ll have to ask her.” Tony definitely doesn’t like _not_ being in the know -- even if all of them know he’s not really any match for Natasha when it comes to an interrogation. 

“I think, Cap’s personal life aside, the point is to focus on, ah, _how_ we’re going to aid and abet him. It sounds like his personal life is covered, but we shouldn’t count on Natasha, if she’s on… duty, there,” Bruce says. 

“I vote for hacking into the Secretary of State’s database,” Tony says, raising one hand like it’s not probably six different federal offenses to do exactly that. “How hard can it be? I hacked SHIELD in like, an hour.” 

Hill simply levels him with a nonplussed look, arms folded across her chest. 

“Not the worst idea. Might give us a heads-up on how to proceed,” Clint agrees, glancing over at Tony. “Probably more information there than what we’re seeing here.” He motions to all the screens. “And in theory it’d be more legitimate information. Most of this is the same shit we already know and a lot of speculation.” 

“Ah, gotta love that twenty-four-hour news cycle,” Tony sighs, but stretches his arms out, cracking his fingers like a pianist preparing to play. “I’m on it. Well -- JARVIS?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“We’re on it. Hill, Barton, any help you want to lend will only make this go faster. Let’s find out what they think they have on Cap, and what they think they’re gonna do about it.” 

Hill gives a nod, relieved to have something concrete to focus on. “I’ll head back to SHIELD, talk with Fury. I’ll be in touch.” She doesn’t wait for a response before she heads out the door. 

***

“Sir, he’s behaving erratically.” 

Pierce barely spares Jenkins and Russo a glance as he walks past where they’ve moved into the hallway, both holding machine guns and looking nervous. “I’ve heard captivity does that to people,” he responds, knowing full well that Rogers can hear them. He steps into the room, separated from Captain America by bulletproof glass that he knows without a doubt the other man could shatter if he wanted. Which means he’s still playing by the rules. “Captain,” he greets with a courteous nod. 

Steve glances up as Pierce walks in, giving the man a smile that is tight and not exactly friendly, for all that the expression is supposed to be. “Secretary.” He doesn’t stop pacing. “Don’t suppose you’re here to let me out, are you?” 

Because behaving erratically is right, and it feels like it’s the only thing keeping Steve _sane_. He’s spent time in tight spaces before, this shouldn’t be so hard. But there’s this itch until his skin and this nervous energy in his stomach like he’s about to go on a mission, and he has nothing to do with it and nowhere to go. So what if he pushed his lunch tray back out the slot with the little medication cup holding his suppressants still full? So what if he tipped the cup into the room’s tiny wastebasket when it came right back through the slot? So what if he’s pacing now, wearing an invisible track in the floor? He’s _here_ , still in this room, having submitted to their DNA test, and that should be good enough for them. They never said he had to be happy about it, and he isn’t -- not when they brought him here in handcuffs and took his phone. His line of communication with Natasha and Bucky. 

Pierce sighs softly. “Would that I could, Captain,” he says, ruefully. “Unfortunately, I have to follow orders the same as anyone else. No, I wanted to come and check on you, see how you were doing. Seeing if there’s anything I can do to help ease your mind.” He sits down in one of the hardback chairs, pulling it closer to the glass. “I sincerely appreciate your cooperation thus far. I’m certain that within twenty-four more hours this entire… unpleasant situation will be cleared up and you’ll be free to go. I’m hoping we’ll be able to put this behind us when it does.” He gives him an apologetic look. 

“That’s a nice hope,” Steve says, a lot more calmly than he feels. He finally stops pacing, coming to stand in front of Pierce’s chair, arms crossed, entire body feeling like it’s buzzing uncomfortably. “But I think we both know this is setting a dangerous precedent. Despite the fact that I agreed.” 

And, since Pierce did offer, “Don’t suppose I can have my phone back?” 

“I’ll see if I can pull a few strings,” Pierce tells him with a slight nod. 

Well. That would be nice. God, even just _talking_ to Bucky feels better than nothing. He hadn’t even really said goodbye to him on the way out, thinking (maybe stupidly) that he’d be back in a few hours. Now, he doesn’t even know if Bucky knows where he is or why he’s here. He misses Bucky like something’s been carved out of himself, and like he won’t be able to sit still until Bucky’s back in his sight. He hopes to God Natasha got over there all right, that she’s staying with Bucky until Steve can just get _out_. 

Pierce leans back in the chair, studying the blond super soldier for a long moment. “I’ve gotten reports you’ve begun refusing meals. And your suppressants.” 

Steve huffs a little, shrugging absently. “Not really hungry.” It’s… actually kind of true, which is abnormal for him, but he’s not really in the mood to think about it. He’s stuck in here, after all, so what is there to burn calories on? And, “I don’t want them,” he adds, about the suppressants. Besides -- he grins a little ferally, definitely feeling the “erratic” bubbling up. “If I go into rut, will that prove my case well enough?” 

Pierce looks unimpressed, lips thinning as he presses them together. “I don’t think you’d have a very good experience if that was to happen, Captain,” he responds. “If you were to go into rut, we’d certainly have to interrupt your boyfriend’s life to bring him down here to… assist you, and my understanding is that he has a bookstore to run.” 

_That_ gets Steve’s attention, zeroing in on Pierce even more single-mindedly than before. “He does,” he says, quietly, but with a deeper quality to his voice that’s almost, almost on the edge of a growl. “And his business is none of yours.” There’s a flare of possessiveness in his chest that wells up, hot and sharp like glass, like lava. “I would rather ride it out alone in here.” 

It’s all Pierce can do not to smirk. Sometimes it’s so easy to find another person’s Achilles heel. “Understood.” He held his hands out in placation. “But you have to understand that ultimately, I’m not the one who’s calling the shots here.” He sighs. “And those who are… are more concerned about keeping chaos from erupting, in whatever form that may take. I implore you to take the suppressants, Captain.” He rises to his feet. “I’d hate to see you here longer than absolutely necessary.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow; he may be feeling awful and acting (supposedly) erratic, but he’s not stupid. He can tell when he’s being threatened, thinly veiled or not. He knows Pierce is telling him to either make sure he doesn’t go into rut, or risk SHIELD detaining Bucky. And he still doesn’t want to trust any “suppressant” that might come through a slot in here for him. 

But while he’s not a spy, he’s not entirely unfamiliar with misdirection. And people might call him a lousy liar, but he can deliver when the pressure’s on. “If I take the meds, he stays where he is.” It’s not so much a question as a statement, for all that he doesn’t have any bargaining power in here, and they do both know it. But he has to trust in the Secretary of State, in the President, that they will let him go when this is over, that they’re only holding him here because they don’t know what else to do while they wait. 

“You have my word,” Pierce says quietly, nodding. “And I’ll work on getting you access to a phone. Believe me, I understand how difficult it is to be away from a bondmate. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, Captain, least of all someone I admire and respect.” 

“... Right,” Steve says, unable to keep the split-second hesitation out of his voice. But his mind is racing, because… bondmate? He and Bucky _aren’t_ bonded, but -- is that why they think he’s acting erratically? 

He’s just fucking _annoyed_ he has to be in here and away from Bucky at all. That they’re trying to make it okay to hold someone while they test his designation. Like it’s really a concern, that they think he could be lying. 

That’s all. 

Pierce gives him a slight nod. “I’ll have another dose sent in and I’ll be back as soon as I have more news for you.” 

“Thank you,” Steve says, maybe a beat or two too late, and maybe with not as much sincerity as it could have, but… there is at least a little sincerity, there. A little hope. 

“Of course.” Pierce gives him a small, seemingly sincere smile at his thanks, delayed as it may be. Then he turns and heads for the door. 

Steve watches him go; and he watches, a few minutes later, when another member of STRIKE shoves a glass of water and another little paper cup of suppressants through the hatch in the door. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, voice absolutely flat -- and palms the pill instead of swallowing it with the water. Just in case. 

***

By the time the next evening rolls around, Bucky’s _exhausted_ from the worry that he can’t shake. It settled into his bones the moment that Natasha had told him that Steve was taken into custody pending DNA testing to make sure he’s truly an alpha and it’s been clinging to him like a second skin ever since. He hadn’t slept the previous night -- at all. He’d taken the couch, insisting Nat take his bed because he’s a gentleman, thank you very much. He’s also pretty sure he wouldn’t have slept even if he’d been in his bed. 

In addition, he’s got a headache that had started out sharp but that’s now tapered into a steady and constant dull throbbing. He’s sure that’s what’s causing the nausea in his belly that hasn’t allowed him to keep anything but broth down since earlier this afternoon. 

Wanda tells him she’ll close down the store, even as she kind of gapes at the sight of the _Black Widow_ in the store just hanging out. She knows Steve is being held in custody because she watches the news and besides that, it’s apparently all anyone at her school is talking about. He knows she’s aware _something_ more is going on, because it’s not exactly common for an Avenger to randomly be hanging around. She also doesn’t ask questions, and he’s grateful because he wouldn’t want to lie to her. There’s genuine worry in her eyes when she tells him to get some rest and he gives her a faint, reassuring smile and promises he will. 

Bucky drops onto the sofa without bothering to change clothes, his entire body aching in that dull sort of way when you know you’re on the verge of illness but haven’t yet spiked a fever. He figures he’s caught some kind of bug, which is either terrible or perfect timing considering Steve’s not there to witness his pathetic lethargy, but it also means he’s not there to cuddle up to him until he feels warm again. 

“You can order in if you’re hungry,” he mumbles to Natasha, closing his eyes. “Or you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” There’s plenty of food there, thanks to everything Steve had brought from his place. 

Natasha is very, very good at not worrying about things unnecessarily. But even more importantly, she is very, very good at not showing that worry when it does crop up. Because zero contact from Steve, on top of everything the media is saying, on top of Bucky’s sudden illness, actually have her worried. Just a little. The tiniest bit. 

But like hell is she going to actually let that show, when Bucky is clearly feeling bad. “I can find something here, I’m sure,” she says from her spot at the kitchen table; Steve’s not here to eat it, Bucky’s not eating much of it, and Natasha knows how much Steve hates wasting food. “You should try to eat some toast,” she says, seemingly not to care one way or the other what his answer is going to be. But she does. 

Just like she cares about what the DNA test is going to show, and what the government is going to do with that information. And whether Steve is going to come walking back in that door unscathed. She knows Rumlow is out of the picture, thanks to the fact that Steve had apparently actually broke his jaw. But the more she digs, the more she finds on connections, previous assignments, and, least savory of all, additional equipment requisitions that have nothing to do with STRIKE’s missions -- at least, the ones that are on the books. 

Bucky grunts at that suggestion, not opening his eyes. “It’ll just come right back up,” he says tiredly, wrapping a blanket around himself and snuggling down into it even as he shivers. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got a stomach bug. You don’t have to hang out here. I don’t wanna make you sick, too.” Alpine jumps up beside him on the sofa, nudging his chin and then tucking herself up into his neck like a soft furry pillow. Which, not inaccurate. 

“Is there any news? They should be letting him out tonight, right? The results should be back by now.” It’s all he’s been thinking about all day. It’s been two full days now, and the news kept reporting the lab results were due back within 48 hours. 

“Nothing yet,” Natasha says, ignoring the insistence that she leave. Not only had Steve asked her to stay, regardless of how much Bucky might want her to go, but there is definitely no way she’s leaving the man in the state he’s in now. The last thing she wants is to play nursemaid, but that doesn’t mean she can’t still keep an eye on the guy. It could very well just be a stomach bug. But if it is, it’s sure got a hell of a sense of timing. 

Everything does, it seems. 

“But they should be releasing the results -- and Steve -- soon.” Provided they’re going to do the latter, she doesn’t actually say out loud, but she definitely thinks it. Based on what she knows from Fury, the Secretary of State has been incredibly tight-lipped about the whole operation. He insists Steve is just fine, only mildly inconvenienced (and of course, who wouldn’t be?) but the fact that Steve’s phone has clearly been confiscated and he’s cut off from even communicating is worrisome. Someone seems to want him isolated and out of the way, whether that someone is the president, or Pierce, or HYDRA. “I’ll leave when he gets here. Trust me, I’m sure I’ll want to.” 

Bucky’s truthfully not surprised that she completely ignores his comment that she can go. He knows that there’s a pretty good chance his place is being watched -- if not by Brock, by _someone_. And he knows he’s vulnerable, more so than usual, because of his left arm and because of this stupid bug that’s taken hold. He also knows if push comes to shove, if Brock is stupid enough to show up here and cause trouble while Steve is detained, the other man has a vulnerability of his own at the moment and he doubts that a punch to an already broken jaw would probably feel very good. 

Natasha eventually tosses Bucky a smile, but it’s tighter than she would like. “You want me to turn up the heat?” 

Bucky closes his eyes again, trying to focus on the fact that in theory, Steve should be released soon -- any time now -- and shakes his head, burrowing farther beneath the blanket. “Bill’s already too high,” he mumbles. “I’ll be fine.” Miserable, maybe. But fine. He’ll get through it. He’s used to being cold these days, anyway. 

Alpine purrs and he can feel the sound reverberate through his entire body and he sighs softly, letting the familiar sound comfort him. 

Natasha just hums, but she doesn’t argue further. She is just about to go in search of another blanket when her phone pings in her hand. She swipes to open the message from Clint, and then goes very still. 

Then she walks over to find Bucky’s television remote and turns the TV on, finding the first news station, where Secretary of State Pierce is already standing outside the Triskelion in the middle of an informal press conference. 

“--confirmed that Captain Rogers is, indeed, an alpha through DNA testing.” There’s a twitter that goes through the crowd, but he raises his hand to quiet them and keeps speaking. “Unfortunately, we have also confirmed that, based on several pieces of clothing and other materials that belonged to Rogers prior to the procedure that turned him into the super soldier we all know and love, he was, in fact, an omega.” 

_That_ gets a louder, longer rumble going through the amassed reporters, as hands already start shooting up. Pierce, still at the microphone, continues. “I know you all have a lot of questions. And I will do my best to answer them. But at this time, it’s clear that some kind of federal offense has been committed on Steven Rogers’ part, because his enlistment papers predate the time at which he -- somehow, utterly unbeknownst to anyone and undeterminable by our best medical researchers at this time -- transformed from an omega into an alpha. We don’t know how it was possible and of course, there is,” he stops and laughs a little here, like he knows what he’s going to say is ridiculous, “absolutely no legislation in place for how to handle a person whose designation has _changed_. It’s supposed to be a medical impossibility. But in this case… we have no choice but to continue holding Captain Rogers -- who is being treated well and fully consented to custody two days ago, on the record -- until such time as we can determine what kind of legal and federal measures are needed to handle this situation.” 

Bucky’s sitting up now, all the color drained from his face and his heart pounding hard in his chest. He struggles to process not only what he’s hearing, but what he’s _seeing_ as well. Or, more precisely, who. His mouth has gone dry, mind flashing back to the sterile medical facility, to the cold metal table beneath his restrained body. To the man giving the orders for the doctors to keep going. The blinding pain that had followed as they mutilated his arm and he screamed until he’d passed out, unable to tolerate the torture any longer. 

The crowd on TV is even louder now as reporters begin to shout out questions. 

“Mr. Secretary, do you believe that Captain America has been compromised?” someone calls out. 

Another: “Mr. Secretary, if Captain America has to be detained long term, is there currently any facility that’s able to house him?” 

Bucky’s stomach turns. “You have to get the others,” he says urgently. “You have to get him out of wherever they’re keeping him.” 

Natasha’s attention is, of course, on the TV. But it’s also on her madly vibrating phone -- and the omega whose behavior indicates that something even more than the obvious is very, very wrong. 

She glances over at Bucky, at the sound of his voice and the clear urgency in it, right as Pierce says, “I don’t know whether the Captain has been compromised, but I assure you that we do have facilities meant to contain individuals who are… outside the normal range of human abilities. I can’t say anything more than that, I’m afraid -- except that Captain America is a citizen just like you or I, and he is not above the law. He may think that he is, and the government -- past, certainly, and perhaps present -- may have aided and abetted him. He has lied about his past to me and all of you. It has been covered up by more people than just him. And I believe all of us should think very hard about the amount of trust and power we place in the hands of an individual like that. Perhaps we’ve gotten complacent, but we need to take stock of whether that kind of thing is acceptable or not. Thank you.” 

The shouted questions start all over again and Natasha hits MUTE, her gaze not having left Bucky, and she asks, “Why?” 

Not that she’s trying to argue, because she isn’t, necessarily. But she wants to know what caused the sudden change in Bucky’s behavior. That’s more than just worry talking. There’s something else. 

Bucky pries his eyes from the television as the older blond man leaves the stage and the TV goes silent. He turns his head to meet her eyes, fear flickering in his gray eyes. “Because when I was overseas being held captive and tortured -- _that_ was the man giving the orders to do it,” he whispers, breathing hard and struggling not to have a panic attack at the mere thought of that bastard being the one in charge of Steve’s fate. 

“So you have to get the others, and you have to get him the hell out of there before they make him disappear or worse.” His voice is strained. 

Natasha studies Bucky for a moment, her face deceptively blank. But only for a moment; then, she lets out a quiet, slow breath, and says, “Well, shit.” 

_That_ just puts a whole new spin on the situation, now doesn’t it. “I’m only going to ask you once if you’re sure,” she says, but her eyes are already on her phone, where she’s texting rapidly. “Because I need you to be sure. If you’re sure, this whole situation just got a lot more complicated, and in a way I very much don’t like.” 

Because if Bucky is sure, then the Secretary of State of the United States of America is very likely affiliated with HYDRA, and that pulls into question a lot -- a _lot_ \-- of things. 

_Well shit_ is about the sum of things in Bucky’s book, too. Natasha’s barely finished saying she needs him to be sure before he’s responding. “It’s him,” he tells her again, more urgency in his voice than before. “And he has Steve, and we don’t know where he is or what they’re doing to him, so you have to get your band of superheroes together and you have to go _get_ him.” 

His eyes are hazy with tears and his hands are shaking as he holds Alpine close to his chest. “Please, Natasha. Go get Steve.” 

“All right,” she says, quiet and grim, and spends the next several minutes on her phone, typing out message after message as the tension in the room seems to ratchet up by degrees. But it’s only a few minutes later that she says, “I’m leaving in about ten minutes. Stark’s going to send over a security detail -- I think if someone was going to target you, we would know by now, but I’m not leaving you completely vulnerable. Especially like this.” 

Her eyes go up and down his form once, as if to say, _While you’re clearly sick_. And, as if to accentuate that point, she asks, “You think this is a physical illness, right? Not something brought on by Steve’s absence?” 

She knows Steve’s been gone for days before and Barnes hadn’t complained of a sickness like this then. But she wants to be sure. There are some aspects of how he’s acting that look to her more like separation anxiety -- like Alpha-Omega Separation Disorder -- than just feeling under the weather. 

It honestly doesn’t occur to Bucky until Natasha hints at Steve's absence being the cause of how shitty he’s feeling. It makes his breath catch in his throat momentarily. Because of _course_ that makes sense, considering he hasn’t been around anyone with the stomach flu. He’d never given much thought to it, hadn’t experienced it when he’d been with Brock. Which also made sense because not only were they _not_ bonded, but they weren’t soulmates. 

“I’m not sure it matters right now,” he tells her, dropping his gaze. Because if that’s what’s causing him to feel badly, the only cure for it is Steve’s physical presence, and that’s not something he has access to at this point. 

Natasha watches the realization cross his face, but just as quickly, she watches him shut down. That alone seems to indicate there’s something more than a bug going on here -- and that alone makes her antsy and anxious to get Steve back. She’s never put much stock in bonds, mating or otherwise. But she can recognize that just because it’s not for her doesn’t mean it’s not for someone else. 

In fact, Steve has seemed happier and more alive for the past few weeks than the entire rest of the time she’s known him. 

“We’ll get him back,” she says, because there is no other option.


	9. Chapter 9

Brock Rumlow’s week started out relatively shitty, considering his broken jaw. But by Monday, it’s gotten better, and by Friday, he’s not sure things could possibly be going more smoothly. Steve Rogers is in custody, his reputation blown all to hell -- and all because of a few simple confessions he’d made to Brock’s ex-boyfriend. All of which had proven to be extremely true and easy enough to confirm. On top of that, word has it that James isn’t doing so well and hadn’t even opened his store this morning. 

_Karma’s a real bitch, ain’t it?_ he thinks with a smirk as he makes his way down the hall toward the room where Rogers is being contained. 

The rest of STRIKE team one is at his back, but he halts them outside the room. “I wanna talk to him for a few minutes. Alone.” 

None of them argue and he struts into the room, letting the door close behind him and just watching Rogers for a long moment, genuine pleasure in his eyes. “Looks like you’re having a shitty week, Cap.” 

Steve _has_ been having a shitty week, and it’s been getting shittier the longer it goes on. He hasn’t been taking the medication they’ve been giving him, pretending to swallow the pills each time but hiding them instead. He can’t trust what they’ve been giving him, because he’s starting to get the worrying feeling that he can’t trust anyone here at all. The more helpful Pierce is, the more agitated Steve gets. He knows it’s not the Secretary of State’s fault, that he’s only carrying out orders the same as anyone else, but there’s just _something_ that’s setting him on edge. Maybe it is the hormones starting to make it hard to think straight. Maybe it’s the way he misses Bucky like there’s a physical piece of him missing. 

Or maybe it’s the way Brock Rumlow is the one to come into his cell today, looking every bit as pleased as Steve is miserable -- and Steve’s had to hide that misery and agitation as best he can, because if they guess he’s not taking his medication, he suspects they’re going to find a more forceful way to make him take it. 

But there’s only so much hiding he can do in front of Brock. “Had better,” he says, voice tight, smile tighter. “How’s your jaw? I see rearranging it didn’t fix your face any.” 

Brock’s smile is cold, but his words are calm and casual when he responds. “I’m sure I’ll forget all about the pain once I get James’ pretty mouth on my dick again. He’s real talented at sucking cock.” 

It’s not really the best thing to say to an alpha dealing with hormone levels he’s never had before, on top of being separated from his soulmate without any form of contact for days. Steve’s eyes narrow and there’s a brief second where he tenses like he’s going to spring, like he’s going to do any of the hundred things he’s picturing doing right now to Brock’s face. 

He visibly keeps himself in check; he will be the better man here, the better _alpha_. He has to be. Or -- he has to try. He really, really has to try. “He’s real talented at a lot of things,” Steve finally says. “It’s why you two could never work. You’re really only good at one thing, and it’s not even all that original.” 

“I don’t know. Seems like I’m pretty good at a lot of things. Staying out of jail, for instance.” Brock smiles as best he can at Steve, given his healing jaw. “Uncovering people’s deep dark secrets.” He takes a step closer to the glass. “See, Cap, end of the day… I always get what I want. One way or another.” 

Steve tilts his head, doing his best impression of Natasha being unimpressed. It definitely loses something with the fire blazing behind his eyes, but there’s nothing for it. “You’ll get what you _deserve_. And that is _not_ someone like Bucky.” 

The next part is something Steve would never, ever say under normal circumstances. But here and now, tired and worn down and missing Bucky and fully off suppressants cold turkey for the first time in his alpha life, he can’t help it: “He’s _mine_.” 

“Where you’re heading? You’ll be lucky if you get out before he dies of old age.” Brock chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll take _real_ good care of him in your absence, Cap. He might protest a little at first, but he’ll get past it. I’ll get him in line.” He winks at Steve before heading for the door. “Pack up your shit. It’s moving day.” 

There’s something about that that manages to break through the red not-so-slowly clouding Steve’s vision. There’s being detained, and there’s being put somewhere out of sight, where the world can slowly forget about you because -- 

Because this isn’t just punishment for enlisting as an omega. This is someone putting him away, because they _want_ him away. 

And Steve Rogers has never sat down and shut up, not once in his life, and he isn’t going to start now. Especially not when he’s got Bucky to get back to -- and this asshole, who needs every bone in his body broken, this time around. It’s just better motivation, as Steve (who has absolutely nothing in here to pack up) waits and watches out the little window in the door and counts the number of people with Brock, estimates where they’re going to take him out based on what he knows of the building, and formulates a plan to make sure he never gets where he’s going, where he takes out as many people as he can -- especially Brock -- on the way. 

“Does that mean you’ve got babysitting detail?”

“That makes it sound like a job. For this?” Brock glances back at him with a shit-eating grin. “I _volunteered._ Come on in, boys,” he says to the others as he steps aside for the rest of the team to come in, all fully prepared with stun batons. 

Rollins glances at him warily before shifting his gaze back to Steve. “Sorry, Cap. Orders.” 

“You know, that’s always been my least favorite word,” Steve tells Rollins, a lot more genially than he feels. He _feels_ like he wants to snap some necks, like the room is hotter and itchier for the men piling in it, all armed and bristling. Steve’s eyes track the number of stun batons, estimating just how many he can get hit with at once without passing out. It’s a very high number. It won’t be pleasant, but these things rarely are. 

He stands, shoving the little metal chair out of the way with a foot, but for all intents and purposes looking like he’s going to go along with what they want. Like Brock’s threats have actually cowed him when in fact, they’ve done the exact opposite. But he has to play along, at least a little, until he gets somewhere with a clear view of the outside. He has to let them lead him a little, so he can stand the best chance of getting away. 

“Not a big fan of them either.” Rollins gives him a half smile. “But you’re a smart guy.” He glances around at the rest of the team. There’s no possible way one man can take down _all_ of them. Not even Captain America. Right? Still, he can’t help but feel a little nervous. 

“I think Cap’s gonna come along nice and easy,” Brock says as he moves forward to unlock the door, stepping back to let Steve out of his cell. “We’ve got a van waiting downstairs.” 

Steve is so very, very ready to prove Rumlow wrong. He very nearly just gives in and does it, because Rumlow has at least told him what he wants to know. But he doesn’t, because he’s still _here_ with no clear path to the exit, and while he doesn’t doubt he can -- and will -- take all of these men out on the way down, he would like to be a little further down before he does it. Just a little further. 

“So let’s get going, already,” he says, and starts heading for the door, like he might very well take the lead just like he used to on missions. (He knows right now that he will never go on another mission with any of these men again.) 

Rollins shoots Rumlow an uneasy look, not at all convinced that this is going to go as smoothly as his friend thinks. He’s seen Cap in action far too many times. He keeps his stun baton at the ready and follows the broad-shouldered man right out the door. “It’s nothing personal,” he says. 

“It never is,” Steve says. Except for when it is. Like with Rumlow. Because Brock? Has made it very, very personal. 

They crowd him into the elevator; part of Steve’s mind boggles, because it’s the perfect place to do this. But the thing is, if he were anyone else, it wouldn’t be. There’s a lot of them, pressing in on all sides, stun batons humming with low-level electricity despite the fact that his hands are locked together behind his back. They’re probably thinking he could have taken them easier in the stairwell -- and maybe he could have. But this’ll do. 

“Anyone want to maybe wait for the next one?” he asks, just as the doors are starting to shut. They’re probably thinking he’s uncomfortable, but really, the more they press in around him, the more his skin crackles to life and the more he tenses, until the elevator car starts sinking and Steve lets loose with every ounce of anger and frustration and worry and _want_ that he’s been sitting on for an entire fucking week with no contact with the outside world, and only a politician’s too-sweet smiles to make up for it. 

It’s not easy; by the time everyone but Rumlow is down, groaning in pain or just plain unconscious, Steve’s clothes are ripped, he’s got several electrical burns in places he very much wishes he didn’t, and the tingle in his skin is much more akin to utter fatigue and pain doing their damnedest to catch up with him. But he’s still standing, and all that’s left is Rumlow, and Steve may not have really enjoyed taking anyone else down, but he might maybe, a little, enjoy this. 

Rumlow is eying him with a wariness that hadn’t been there only moments before when they’d been upstairs, but the elevator has been stopped in the midst of its descent during the fight. “You’re hurtin’, Cap. And there’s more of us all over this building. You really think you can take us all out?” He levels him with a look. “Second STRIKE team’s already been deployed to retrieve James. Even if you get outta here, you’ll never make it in time.”

“You don’t know how fast I can run,” Steve growls, but the truth is, he is hurting, and he’s feeling cornered and desperate. It’s no longer about making Rumlow hurt -- it’s about getting him _out_ of the picture and getting to Bucky, keeping him safe from all of this, everything that’s spiraled out of control when all he wanted was to try for one goddamned normal thing in his life. 

And Rumlow is the only one Steve can actually get at, just now, standing between him and it. 

Rumlow does, admittedly, put his best foot forward. For all that Steve has come to seriously dislike him, he’s a skilled, tenacious, brutal fighter, and Steve is gasping around several broken ribs and two additional stun baton burns by the time Rumlow drops to the floor. He glances out the window, considering for a second… but they’re too high up, and even he will turn into a grease stain on the ground if he tries to jump. If he had the shield, maybe, to break his fall, but -- but it’s safely back home with Bucky. 

_Bucky_. He’s got to get back to Bucky. 

He pries open the elevator doors and has to half-climb, half-crawl into the hallway of the nearest floor. There are sirens blaring but no one visible, so Steve picks himself up and runs, skidding into the stairwell and practically hurling himself down each flight of stairs. And maybe that wasn’t the best idea, because by the time he stumbles out into the garage, he’s got too much momentum going to keep from literally barreling right into the side of -- 

A heavily armored transport truck. That is probably meant for him. Well, _shit_. He peels himself off the now-dented door and scrabbles for purchase beneath his feet, planning to sprint away before the guys in the truck even realize what’s happened. If he can lose them in the depths of the garage, find his bike or, frankly, anything he can hotwire, he can get the hell out of here.

Before he has a chance to move away, a familiar figure leans out the driver’s side window. “Get in,” Maria Hill orders. “We don’t have much time. There’s more of them on their way right now.” 

Steve, admittedly, barely manages to stay upright as he comes to a stop, blinking at the figure leaning out of the window for a moment, like he can’t believe it’s actually her. 

“Maria?” His mouth and tongue feel thick, as his injuries and fatigue start to catch up with him, but he finally seems to process that he knows the person in front of him, and that she’s -- probably not… 

“Wait, are you -- you’re not with…” STRIKE. Or HYDRA. It’s suddenly hard to tell. 

“Probably unemployed after this is all said and done,” she says grimly. “Get in. I need to get you back to Stark Tower.” There’s concern in her eyes as her gaze flickers over him. He looks like he’s a few moments away from passing out and if that happens, they’re screwed. No way she’ll be able to load him into the transport van on her own. 

Steve hesitates for a few more seconds -- but only a few. The look on her face is what decides him, and he sprints back around for the passenger side door, hauling himself up into the seat and doing his best to ignore exactly how painful that very action is. “We need to get to Bucky’s,” he says, leaning back against the seat and just letting himself trust her, letting her get them out of here even though he’s still on high alert, watching their progress through slitted eyes because if he needs to get out and fight again, well, that’s just what he’ll do. There’s no choice. No matter how much he really, really wants to just pass out. “He’s -- There’s a STRIKE team going after him. Right now.” 

Maria glances at him sideways with one question in mind. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” 

***

Bucky doesn’t open the store on Friday. Frankly he's been far too exhausted to even move off the couch other than when he’s had to drag himself to the bathroom to throw up again. He’s lost count of how many times he’s been sick this week, and he knows part of it is just _nerves_. The other part -- each day he’s felt progressively worse than the previous day. 

He’s known that Alpha-Omega Separation Disorder is a real thing and has seen a couple people suffer its effects during separation from their bondmates. But Bucky isn’t bonded with anyone. Not technically. And the others that he’d witnessed hadn’t been this sick. He’s running a fever now -- about 103 according to the thermometer he’d managed to dig out of the bathroom closet. And he hasn’t been able to get warm regardless of how many blankets he’s burrowed beneath. 

He’s spent the better part of the day on the ORC website, reading when he could focus long enough to do so, and seeing their thoughts and posts regarding Captain America and what’s been going on all week. He doesn’t post a single thing. Doesn’t dare. But it is heartening to see that the overwhelming majority in the network thinks it’s absolute bullshit, and many of them have talked about protests going on in their cities across the country. Most of the other countries haven’t been as vocal, but there’s a pretty strong Captain America following in France and another in Germany, which makes sense. 

His eyes are hazy, red-rimmed from lack of sleep and misery by the time he finishes throwing up the _nothing_ but water that’s been on his stomach for the last two days. And his suppressants. But he doubts they’re doing what he needs them to because he doesn’t think he’s kept them down long enough to do any real good.

Alpine has taken up permanent residence at his side and she immediately crawls onto his chest when he lies back down on the sofa, yanking all the blankets over himself. He’d be more comfortable in bed but he’s pretty sure he has no chance of making it up the steps to the loft, so. The couch it is. 

If Steve isn’t released, and soon…

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s going to die here. 

***

Steve’s not sure how they make it out of the Triskelion’s garage (mostly) unscathed, but he’s got to hand it to Maria -- her driving is a thing of beauty. They crash through two blockades and several closed gates, but between the general chaos of no one being ready for Captain America to escape in the very truck meant to take him to a permanent holding facility and Maria’s having already disabled the three trackers embedded in the truck, they somehow make it out onto the highway with enough of a head start that a tiny, tiny fraction of Steve’s adrenaline rush starts to ebb away. 

But all he has to do is think about what Brock said, about a STRIKE team going after Bucky, and he’s on edge all over again. Which is good, really, because he knows that when he does drop, it’s going to be hard. But it can’t be yet. It absolutely cannot be yet. 

He’s briefed Maria enough that she doesn’t wait for backup before making straight for Bucky’s. Steve has to physically pry his hands away from the dash several times, although he can’t exactly feel bad about the finger-shaped indents he leaves behind. When the truck finally pulls up outside Book Barnes, Steve spots the Stark Industries car down the block -- and at the same time realizes it’s empty. And that can’t mean anything good. 

He’s already tearing out of the truck before it’s actually stopped. “Rogers --” Maria is calling after him, but Steve’s already tearing open the front door of the bookstore (like it wasn’t deadbolted shut… well, he’s going to pay to fix it, he will, if Bucky will only just please be all right) and racing toward the back of the store to do the same to Bucky’s apartment door. 

“Bucky!” He knows he must be a sight, clothes torn and bloody and burned, but at that moment, all he can do is stand in the doorway of Bucky’s apartment like an avenging angel and scan the room for the only person that matters in the world to him right now. “Buck --” 

Bucky is pretty sure he’s hallucinating when his door is suddenly pulled right off the hinges to reveal Steve’s familiar frame looming there, urgent look in his eyes. He manages to prop himself up on his right elbow, sitting up just a little, relieved when he doesn’t get immediately nauseous. Clothes tattered and torn or not, he’s the best sight Bucky’s seen in days, even if he is a hallucination. Why would Steve pull the door off its hinges? 

“Am I dreaming?” His voice is hoarse from all the vomiting he’s done this week. 

Steve zeroes in on Bucky as soon as he senses motion, as soon a Bucky speaks. It’s probably overdramatic, but he ends up vaulting over the coffee table into the small space between its edge and the couch, looking at Bucky, taking in how _awful_ he looks (and sounds), hands immediately going to his shoulders. “Are you okay? What’s -- Can you get up? We need to get out of here.” _Before_ the team arrives, and if they’re already engaging with the protection Stark put in place, then they really don’t have a lot of time. And while Steve could and would absolutely fight an entire second STRIKE team for Bucky… he doesn’t want to risk it, because Bucky or Alpine could get hurt, and the store or the apartment could suffer (more) damage, and he just wants to get Bucky out safe and someplace where he can basically sit on him and take a nap. That’s all he wants right now, in the back of his addled brain: Bucky and sleep. And safety. 

A quiet, wounded noise escapes Bucky’s lips at the feel of Steve’s hands on his shoulders and he doesn’t hesitate to shift forward and wrap his arms around him, burying his face against Steve’s throat. “What’s happening?” There’s confusion in his voice as his brain starts to catch up with the fact that he’s not, actually, hallucinating. That Steve is _here_ , and he’s _hurt_ , and he’s saying they need to get out of there, and there’s an unfamiliar voice calling out that an engine is running. Nothing makes any sense and part of him doesn’t care because Steve’s _there_ somehow, and he’s real. 

“Rogers?” Maria’s voice floats in from the direction of the bookstore. “I’m not getting out because I want to keep the engine running, so hurry it up in there, whatever you’re doing.” 

At the sound of another voice, Bucky reluctantly pulls back to look at Steve, dazed expression on his face. “Did you pull the door off its hinges?” 

Steve looks back over his shoulder like he actually needs to check. “Uh. Yeah? Yeah, I -- I’ll pay to fix it, Buck, I promise, but you’ve gotta get up. Right now.” He wants to hurl himself on top of Bucky and bury his face in his neck so, so badly, but he can’t. Not yet. Instead, he slides an arm around Bucky’s back, under his shoulders, and starts working him up into a real sitting position, in preparation to get him standing. And it’s then that he realizes -- Bucky is burning up. His skin is hot and clammy to the touch, and he’d looked awful and sounded awful, yeah, and every single protective instinct Steve has been shoving down for days feels like it’s trying to come roaring to the surface. 

“Buck, you -- can you stand? Should you stand? I can get whatever you need, but we need to leave, sweetheart.” 

“‘Sokay. Glad you’re here. Missed you so much, Stevie,” he murmurs, letting Steve help him sit up. The room spins violently around them, but he squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into Steve and letting the warmth of his skin press into him. He wants to ask where they’re going, what’s happening, and distantly he knows that something big is happening because Steve is hurt and he’s urging Bucky to his feet. “Alpine.” The cat jumps up and perches on his shoulder, meowing. He wants to reach up and pet her but isn’t sure he has the necessary energy to walk _and_ pet. He’s not even sure he has the energy to walk. 

“I missed you too.” Steve feels breathless, desperate, rushed (and of course he is) as he helps pull Bucky to his feet, Alpine hopping up onto Bucky, and Steve spares a few seconds to run a hand over her back. 

“Your shield,” Bucky tells Steve, nodding toward the bookcase. His mouth's as dry as the desert but the thought of drinking anything makes him want to throw up again. He reaches down for his computer absently, picking it up even though he’s not sure where they’re going. It seems important not to leave it here if they’re going somewhere else for long. 

“I’ll get it on the way out. Do you need anything else?” Steve’s not surprised Bucky’s taking the laptop, considering where it had been hidden, but he wants to make sure they’re not leaving anything else important behind. He knows Bucky understands the importance of leaving with only what you can carry, but Steve can carry more if he has to. He knows they’ll be back, and soon, he hopes, but it might not be as soon as either of them wants. 

Bucky can’t shake the feeling that it might be awhile before he’s back here and he does a quick visual scan -- which is difficult considering how hazy his vision is at the moment. “Suppressants,” he admits. “They’re in the chocolate pop tart box in the cabinet with the cereal.” Hidden, where they wouldn’t be easily found by anyone who might be willing to break in and plant bugs in his apartment. “I think that’s it.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, and gets them both moving toward the kitchen so he can grab them before picking up his shield by the door. He’s maybe more dragging Bucky than helping him, feeling anxious about getting the hell out before STRIKE gets here. It feels like every second, the walls are closing in on them just a little more. 

Of course, as he picks up the box to dump the bottle out into his hand, he feels a sharp pang over the fact that he _hasn’t_ had suppressants in a week. He knows it’s making him act and feel different, and he knows he’s got to tell Bucky, even as he very deliberately does not detour them into the bathroom to get his own bottle. He no longer trusts anything given to him by SHIELD, because he doesn’t know whose hands could have been on it before his. He’s been okay after a week -- for a given definition of okay. He’ll figure it out from here. 

From there, he gets them out of the apartment and into the bookstore, trying to work his way down the aisles without knocking anything over. 

Everything feels very strange, hard to focus on, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s the fever or the nearness to Steve, but he really just wants to crawl into his arms and sleep. He doesn’t put up any argument as Steve half drags, half carries him through the bookstore even as he wonders why they didn’t use the back door. 

The truth is, Steve’s all but forgotten about the back door, especially given that Maria pulled up to the front. “I -- I’ll pay to replace this door, too,” he says, feeling suddenly sheepish, but at least the front door is still on its hinges, and when they get out he turns around, sets down the shield, and, with Bucky in one arm, uses the other hand to mangle the lock enough that no one can break in.

Bucky’s mind is still spinning, a blur of confusion as Steve gets them out of the store and does something to the lock that makes it look pretty unusable. “Where’re we going?” he mumbles, head lolling onto Steve’s shoulder as he hauls them toward a van.

“Someplace safe,” Steve promises -- even if he doesn’t actually know where that might be, anymore. “There are people coming for you. We’re going where they can’t find you.” 

He really, really doesn’t like the way Bucky sounds, the way he’s dragging. He pulls Bucky bodily around to the back of the transport van, pulling open the door and shouting to Maria to step on it as soon as Bucky and Alpine are settled and Steve is just starting to swing the door closed behind him -- and hears shouting and the pounding of boots on pavement. 

A second later, there’s the sound of something moving hard and fast in their general direction and an explosion rocks the van. Maria curses as she presses her foot to the gas pedal, eyes widening as she glances in the rearview mirror to see flames erupting from Book Barnes, black smoke rising from all around it. “Jesus,” she whispers, clutching onto the wheel. 

Talk about cutting it close. 

Steve just barely catches a glimpse of the blast before they’re speeding off; he hangs on the handle of the door for a moment, eyes wide, feeling almost numb, before he takes a deep breath, pulls it all the way shut, and shuffles back up to the front of the holding bay, where he’d set Bucky on the floor of the van, propped against the side. 

Everything hurts, his heart is pounding hard in his chest, and he’s got no control of the situation -- and no easy way to talk to Maria, now that they’re sealed in the back of the truck, which is meant to transport a high-level threat. Like himself. 

But he trusts Maria and trusts her to figure out where to go. He can feel her accelerating around corners and he’s not about to strap Bucky into one of the seats back here, so he just crawls up to bracket Bucky’s body with his own, as Alpine slides down to settle in Bucky’s lap, looking (understandably) agitated. Steve settles the shield and the laptop at their feet, then wraps an arm around Bucky, doing his best to get as close as humanly possible without actually crawling on top of him and squishing him, which is the last thing he needs in this condition. 

Steve feels awful and wrung out, but Bucky looks worse, and Steve can’t help himself -- it’s now that he gives into the urge to wrap himself around Bucky and bury his face against his neck, and before he can even realize what’s happening, the adrenaline crashes out from underneath him and he’s out, still clinging to Bucky just as tight. 

***

“He’s coming around, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony glances up from the medical chart he’s reading over to look down at the large man who’s been lying unconscious for the last several hours. “You waking up there, Capsicle?” he asks, setting the chart down on the rolling bedside table and moving a couple steps closer. 

Steve is indeed waking up, but he’s not exactly liking what he’s finding. His eyes flutter as one hand starts patting absently around a little; when it hits the side of the medical bed he’s in, his eyes finally fly open and he starts to try to sit up -- which is harder than it should be, thanks to the medical tape that’s wrapped tightly around his torso to keep his broken ribs in place before they start to heal improperly. 

“Where’s Bucky,” is the first thing he says, and it’s more of a demand than a question. 

“Easy, Cap,” Tony warns, pulling the curtain by his bed open enough to reveal the other person lying in a bed next to his, unconscious. “He’s still out, but he’s stabilized.” His gaze shifts from “Bucky” back to Steve. “How are you feeling?” He folds his arms across his chest, expression giving nothing away. He sure as hell has a lot of questions he wants answers to, though.

“Fine,” is Steve’s absent, flat answer; all his attention has zeroed in on Bucky in the bed next to his, eyes roving over his prone figure, looking for injuries -- but finding none. Bucky was -- is -- sick, but he doesn’t appear worse off than that, and he does look a little better, asleep and hooked up to a saline drip. 

His eyes finally, as though it takes effort, slide back to Tony. “Where are we?” 

“Medical wing of Stark Tower,” he responds, not missing the way Steve had looked at the man in the bed. Interesting. Tony already knows a bit about their other guest because Maria had given him the basics -- that Steve had insisted on going to some bookstore where a friend of his apparently lived -- “Bucky” -- and that right after they’d left, the place had gone up in flames. There’s a whole hell of a lot he doesn’t know yet, but JARVIS is working on that part. 

Steve does relax minutely at that -- Stark Tower is one the most secure places he knows of, which means Bucky is safe. With that taken care of, he can finally focus on other things… which, for better or worse, means Tony Stark. 

“Gotta say, Cap. Your life appears to be a hell of a lot more interesting than I was giving you credit for all this time.” There’s a hint of amusement behind Tony’s words, despite the serious expression he’s wearing. 

Steve looks unimpressed, but there’s a hint of wryness in his voice when he says, “I was trying to make it less interesting. Y’know, normal.” It’s normal to have relationships, right?

But then, some people you thought you knew clearly _aren’t_ the people you assumed they were. Like his coworkers at SHIELD, which is disturbing, to say the least. But Stark… Stark seems to be on the right side of things here, and Steve is glad to see him. “Thanks. For taking us in.” 

Tony makes an offended sound, waving off the thanks like the no big deal it actually is. “Don’t mention it. Seriously -- don’t.” He raises his eyebrows, glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping brunette momentarily before looking back at Steve. “We’ll get caught up tomorrow when you’re a little more healed.” No matter how badly he wants more information about a whole lot of things, he’s not totally heartless. He recognizes the fact that, despite superpowers, Steve is injured and needs to rest and recover. 

Part of Steve wants to just get up, say he’s fine, get to work figuring out what the hell is really going on here. 

But a bigger part of him wants -- needs -- to stay right here with Bucky until he wakes up, and he’s already starting to sit up a little more, planning to slide out of bed so he can at least go sit down next to Bucky’s bed and wait. Then he realizes -- “Alpine. Where’s the cat?” 

Tony makes a face. “With Barton. He’s apparently a cat person. She hissed at me when I tried to pet her.” 

_That_ makes Steve laugh for the first time in… God, it feels like it’s been a long time. “She’s a smart cat.” But good. He trusts Barton with her. Good. 

He starts working on disentangling himself from the various cords and machines so he can get over to Bucky’s bed. “Is everyone else all right?” 

Steve is not doing a very good job of waiting until he’s healed to ask questions. 

Tony narrows his eyes a bit, watching Steve as he undoes all the cords and machines he’s hooked up to. He’s not surprised, and he doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t care for hospitals, either. “Probably won’t pay attention if I tell you that you shouldn’t be out of bed yet, right?” His voice is mild, without a hint of judgment for once. 

“Nope,” Steve grits out, finally free of the tangle so he can shuffle his way over to Bucky’s half of the room. 

Tony finally deigns to answer Steve’s question, staying put for the moment but looking uncomfortable as Steve takes slow step after slow step. “We’re still waiting to hear back from Romanoff, but everyone else appears to be fine and accounted for now that you’re back.” 

Steve glances back, realizing Tony isn’t following, and not minding if he does. 

At that look, Tony does get in gear, following somewhat closely on the off chance that Steve ends up falling. Not that he’ll ever admit that’s what he was doing. 

Steve makes it, though, pulling over one of the chairs in the corner so he can drop down into it next to Bucky’s bed. He knows he doesn’t really have the wherewithal to discuss it in depth right now, but, “Tony, something really strange -- and really big -- is going on, here. Someone’s trying to take me out of the picture, and I don’t know why.” 

When Steve drops into a chair beside the brunette’s bed and lays that statement out there, Tony gives a short nod. “Don’t know a lot of the details yet myself, but it looks like an old enemy of yours has resurfaced with quite an entrance.” He glances at Bucky momentarily and then back at Steve. “The good part is they were unsuccessful. And they’ll continue to be unsuccessful.” 

That gets Steve’s attention, even as he’s rooting around a bit for Bucky’s hand. He needs to touch Bucky, needs to convince himself he’s here, needs skin to skin contact because he feels like, after a whole week apart, he’ll never get enough of it. God, how did he go on a mission for an entire week right after he met Bucky and not just go out of his mind? 

(He was on suppressants at the time, he knows, and this is probably what it’s like without them. No wonder he’s been on them his entire time as an alpha… and he should probably deal with that, but first --) 

“What do you mean, old enemy?” he asks, eyes narrowing even as he fits his fingers in between Bucky’s limp ones, squeezing tight. He has a bad feeling, though, that he knows what Tony’s going to say. _Who_ he’s going to say.

Tony watches Steve slot his fingers between the other man’s and presses his lips together. “I mean HYDRA. Apparently, they’ve managed to infiltrate SHIELD. And our good buddy Brock Rumlow’s part of it. Sounds like a few of the others from STRIKE, too, Romanoff wasn’t real clear. Just that she was still digging. Oh, and the Secretary of State is in on the whole conspiracy, too.” 

Well. _That_ gets Steve’s attention -- his undivided attention, because admittedly up until now, things had been about 60 percent Bucky, 40 percent everything else. Now, though, just for a second, Steve’s hand almost feels numb, as he turns to look at Tony -- really look at him, as his stomach goes cold. 

He hates when hunches like this are right.

“HYDRA? All of them?” Well. Well, _shit_. The Secretary of State is in on it? Suddenly every little way he’d rubbed Steve wrong for the entire past week comes rushing back to him, and he feels much more justified. 

Buf if HYDRA has gotten that far… what if it’s only the tip of the iceberg? “Where’s Natasha now?” he asks, voice tight, as he works through everything he was just told, all the way down to its conclusion: HYDRA is still very much alive and kicking, and might be a much, much bigger problem than a few isolated, outdated cells. 

“Great question. Don’t know how deep it goes. And she went off the grid yesterday afternoon.” Tony’s decidedly unhappy about both of those things and it shows on his face, even if the latter had a tendency to happen pretty often. _Spies._

“Barton’s working on trying to get in touch with her through other means -- whatever those are, I have no idea.” He’s too old for some of this shit and he shakes his head. “I’m sure we’ll have more information soon. Meanwhile, I’ve got a team of lawyers ready to tear the current presidential administration apart on your behalf, but in the meantime you’re gonna need to lie low.” 

_Tear the current presidential administration apart on your behalf,_ Steve’s mind echoes, and -- suddenly he feels very tired. Very tired, and very worried, and he just nods mutely for a moment. He should get up, he knows -- get up and say he’s fine and go with Tony and deal with this, somehow. Deal with the fact that HYDRA is back and rooted deeply and firmly in the institutions people are supposed to be able to trust to protect them. 

But -- He glances back at Bucky, asleep and hooked up to machines, to medications, and he finally looks back to Tony. “Can you keep me updated? Tell me when she checks in. I -- I’m gonna stay here for a bit.” Maybe try to get some of that rest Tony had just mentioned, a few minutes ago. Maybe just… try to figure out what went wrong, to get them to this point.

“Can do,” Tony responds, not liking the almost-lost look on Steve’s face. It’s not something he’s used to seeing, at least not when it comes to something serious, and it makes him uneasy. He pats Steve’s shoulder somewhat awkwardly. “If you need something before then, don’t hesitate. I mean it.” There’s a thread of seriousness there that’s usually not, but before Steve has a chance to respond, Tony’s turning and heading for the door, leaving him there alone with Bucky. 

“Yeah,” Steve says absently -- and then, just before Tony actually makes it out the door: “Thank you, Tony.” He means it. 

He doesn’t know where he’d be or what he’d be doing now, whether Bucky would be _alive_ , without his teammates. Without his friends. That thought turns Steve’s stomach and he hunches over a little, trying to thread his and Bucky’s fingers closer together as he settles into the uncomfortable plastic chair and leans his shoulder against the rails on the side of Bucky’s bed, trying to just… calm down, focus, figure out what the next move is here, and convince himself that they really are safe, at least for the time being.

The first thing Bucky notices is that there’s light pressure on his hand. It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t scare him, even as he realizes quickly he’s not at home. The light in the room is far too bright when he opens his eyes, and he winces. Almost instantly the lights dim a bit, which is weird. It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s in the hospital. Or something _like_ a hospital. _Aren’t I already done with all of this?_ he thinks, his brain full of cotton candy. He licks his lips, wincing again and lets his head roll to the side, gaze landing on Steve. 

He coughs a couple of times, fingers tightening around Steve’s involuntarily, and then staying that way even as his body relaxes back into the pillow behind him, a small, dopey smile spreading across his face. 

“Steve.” 

Steve might have been drifting for a few minutes, but as soon as Bucky starts to stir, it’s like an alarm blaring in his ear. He sits up a little closer, laser-focused in on the dark-haired omega as he starts to wake. And when Bucky looks over at him with that smile, Steve’s face breaks out into a relieved grin of his own. “Buck. Hey. Hey, what do you need? Are you thirsty?” 

He feels like he needs to do something, he needs to help Bucky out or he’s going to just crawl into the bed with him, and that would probably make some of those machines unhappy. “How are you feeling?” 

Bucky shifts a little, trying to see Steve easier, chest feeling warm at the sight of his smile. He licks his lips, and yep -- he’s definitely thirsty. His mouth feels like an old sock and that thought makes him grimace. “Thirsty,” he agrees, closing his eyes again for a second, but opening them back up almost immediately. He takes stock of how he feels aside from that. His head still hurts, but it’s less intense that it has been in days. His body still aches but it, too, feels somewhat better. He glances up at the IV bag hooked into his left arm, and he’s glad they hooked it up to that one so at least he’ll be able to use his other. 

“Kinda crappy,” he admits, yawning. “How are you? What happened?” His eyebrows furrow for a moment as he tries to remember how he’d ended up here, and vaguely he can recall that Steve had shown up at his apartment and told him they needed to go. But why? There’s something -- but it’s too distant to grasp onto at the moment, his head still too fuzzy. 

“Yeah, okay, lemme -- um,” Steve casts about, and after a few seconds he spots a pitcher of water and two plastic cups with straws over on a nearby table. “Hang on,” he says, pushing himself stiffly up to head for the table and pull it closer, so he can fill one of the cups and hand it over to Bucky. It’s very convenient how everything is on wheels around here. 

Bucky takes a sip of the water, letting its coolness quench his throat and get rid of the old sock feeling in his mouth. He holds onto the cup even though he’d rather go back to holding Steve’s hand, watching as he sits down once more, somewhat stiffly. It makes his eyes narrow. 

Once Steve’s back in the chair, he turns it so he can face Bucky a little better, now that he’s awake. He’s still trying to look for any obvious injuries on the outside, but Bucky really, truly seems intact, and Steve couldn’t be more grateful. “It’s… kind of a long story,” he says, although he guesses they’ve got nothing but time. At the moment, anyway. He doesn’t know what Bucky knows, so he tries to start at the beginning: “They said I had to submit to testing, to prove I was an alpha. They took my phone and they wouldn’t let me out even after, because even though I’m an alpha now, they found a way to prove I wasn’t, before.” 

He’s trying to recount everything calmly and detachedly, but he definitely doesn’t look happy or calm about any of that. “This morning, they said they were transferring me. That I’d never get out. They sent Rumlow and the rest of my team to do it.” Steve’s smiling now, but it’s grim. “I took them down, but not before Rumlow said there was a team on its way to you.” 

As soon as Steve starts talking, Bucky remembers the last horrible week without him, watching the news every spare moment, and feeling like he was dying slowly. “Jesus, Steve,” he whispers, eyes searching for signs of visible injury. “Are you okay? Are you _hurt?_ ” He assumes so, considering he’s in a matching blue hospital gown, and Bucky carefully balances the cup of water on his thigh before pressing the button that moves the hospital bed to more of a seated position. “Should you even be out of bed?” 

He sets aside the thought of a team of people being sent to capture him, because okay. It’s happened before. And because right now, he’s safe, in some hospital he doesn’t recognize, and Steve is there and they’re _together_. He’ll focus on that right now and deal with the rest later. 

“I’m okay,” Steve says quickly, and it’s not quite as flat as when he’d told Tony, but it is probably just as much of an overestimate. But the truth is, even if he hurts now, no one can do much of anything about it. His ribs will heal in a couple of days, and the burns are probably already sloughing off. “I heal quick, I promise.” 

And there’s also the fact that Bucky is right here, right next to him, within touching distance, and that goes a long way toward making Steve feel better than the caged, anxious animal he’s felt like all week. “I wanna know what happened to you. You were dehydrated and I know you had a fever. Are you sick?” 

Bucky studies him with tired eyes. Steve looks every bit as tired as he feels, and he scrapes his teeth over his lower lip for a moment. “Yeah. I think so.” He’s not entirely sure why, even if he has a suspicion about the cause, one that Natasha had so casually mentioned. It feels true. And it makes sense. 

He’s not sure he wants to toss such a diagnosis out between them without an actual doctor being the one to suggest it, though. “Been nauseated and headachey all week.” And lethargic, but he figures that’s a given. “But I’m not the one who’s been locked up for a week. Have you gotten any rest?” 

Steve smiles a little at Bucky’s question, but it’s humorless and dry, because, “Not much, I guess. I felt kinda like a bug under glass. The more they tried to reassure me, the less better I actually felt.”

Bucky reaches out for his hand wordlessly, needing the contact. “Sounds about right,” he murmurs. Especially when there’s little doubt that the bastards who’d locked him up in the first place are fucking evil. He doesn’t know how to break that news to him yet, but one thing at a time. 

Steve’s huffs quietly, because despite that reassurance, he’s still unhappy to hear that Bucky’s been sick. After all, Steve spent most of his childhood sick, and has pretty vivid memories of feeling awful most of the time. Plus, that stupid protective part of himself that he’s been trying to shove down more and more this week is _really_ unhappy to hear his omega isn’t feeling good. 

And then Steve realizes he’d just thought of Bucky as _his omega_ , and -- and shit, he can’t be thinking like that. He’s never thought like that before -- except he has, hours ago, facing down Brock Rumlow, and he’s pretty sure he knows why. 

He really should tell Bucky.

“I, uh. I stopped taking the medication they were giving me. The suppressants. I didn’t trust it. I don’t know why -- maybe it was stupid. But I haven’t had any in a week and I… don’t know if I’m acting weird or if they just mistook my being pissed off for something else. I’m not saying I don’t think I can control myself, but I keep -- If you stop feeling safe around me, you need to say something. Please.” 

Bucky watches Steve huff, looking frustrated, unsettled and that unsettles _Bucky_ , but when he hears why, he relaxes once more. “I don’t blame you. It was a good choice. Best you coulda made at the time, under the circumstances.” 

His voice cracks and he grimaces, taking another drink of the water. “I don’t think you’re actin’ weird, Steve. They locked you up for a bullshit reason. I was pissed, too.” He’s _still_ pissed. And he’s been terrified for the entire week, worried about what they were doing to him, if they were treating him okay, or if they were hurting him. 

“This is the safest I’ve felt since you left Monday morning,” Bucky admits tiredly. 

Steve laughs softly, but it’s mostly (almost entirely) relief. “Well, you probably still have a fever. I don’t know if you can tell what’s weird and what’s not.” 

But joking aside… he hopes to God that Bucky will say something if Steve does something he doesn’t like. He knows Bucky’s told him, more than once, that he could never be an alpha like Brock Rumlow. And while Steve doesn’t think Bucky’s lying, he just… doesn’t know. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s like off suppressants, especially cold turkey like that. He’d fooled STRIKE and Pierce all right, but he’d also been mad, and had reason to be mad. Here and now… he has Bucky, and he knows there’s still more anger and action to be had, but right now, he doesn’t want those things at all. He just wants Bucky. 

Bucky smirks at that. “Well, I don’t think I’m wrong _anyway._ Fever or not.” He shrugs, expression softening at the worry that he can read on Steve's face. He’s been around more than one alpha off suppressants before. His dad’s an alpha. And plenty of guys in the military had been. A couple of them had been more than a little brassed off that a beta had bypassed them for sergeant, but it hadn’t scared him. His dad might have always been an asshole, but he’d never been _abusive_. 

Brock’s another story all together. He doesn’t think it’s necessarily the norm, and he knows it’s not the norm for Steve. He’s not at all worried that’s going to change anytime soon, and he wishes he knew how to put that into words that Steve would believe. Instead, he focuses on their joined hands, his thumb brushing over the back of Steve’s knuckles over and over, willing him to understand that Bucky’s not afraid of him. 

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky assures him, because he’s already feeling a lot better than he had been before he woke up. 

Steve twists his hand in Bucky’s grip so they can slide their fingers together a little better. “Whatever’s wrong, whatever you caught, they’ve got good medics here. They’ll have you back on your feet in no time. I don’t know what comes next, but --” 

Oh, God. Bucky can’t just go home, and Steve isn’t sure he even knows, or remembers. He scoots a little closer, while at the same time knowing that this might be it -- this might be the deal breaker, this might make Bucky tell him to get up and go. Because this has to be Steve’s fault. If he and Bucky hadn’t been seeing each other… “Book Barnes is gone. I’m sorry, Buck. I’m -- I know it’s because of me. I’m sorry.” 

Steve’s words echo in his head, and they make no sense. _Book Barnes is gone._ Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. “Gone? What do you mean?” 

Bucky’s touch is soothing, like maybe Steve doesn’t need suppressants as long as he’s got Bucky here to hold his hand like this. He doesn’t feel nearly as antsy or angry as he did before, but that doesn’t mean the cold lump in the pit of his stomach is gone. Especially not as Bucky seems to not quite process what Steve’s saying and he realizes Bucky definitely didn’t see what happened. 

“Bombed,” he says, quietly. “The team that was after you. I think they were going to kill you. They destroyed the store, Buck. We barely made it out in time.” If they’d been even a little bit slower… Steve doesn’t want to think about it. He’d rather have Bucky here than the alternative, but that place had meant so much to him. And it had been his home. “I didn’t think they’d do something like that. I’m so sorry.” 

Bombed. His store… his apartment. It’s _gone._ All the air leaves Bucky’s lungs and for a moment he stares blankly at Steve’s face. The look on the other’s face when he busted into the apartment flashes through his mind -- the fear, the urgency -- and it makes a lot more sense now. 

He’s silent for a few seconds before he sits up a little more, eyes widening fearfully. “Alpine?” His voice is strained and his eyes dart around. She’d been on his shoulder, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn’t see her anywhere nearby and fear shoots through him. 

“She’s fine,” Steve says quickly, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “She’s here. She’s with Hawkeye,” he adds, smiling a little because nothing here is funny, but maybe that will at least make Bucky smile, too. “I heard she took a swipe at Stark. I always knew she was smart.” 

But still, that doesn’t change the fact that everything Bucky had is gone. Everything his grandfather gave him. “I know money or a new place to live can’t make it right,” Steve says, somber again. “But -- whatever I can do. Whatever you need. I’ll try. But… Stark said we might want to lie low for a while, and maybe he’s right.” 

Steve doesn’t want to lie low, but he feels much more beholden to Bucky than to just about anyone else right now. 

Bucky’s never met Hawkeye, but he’s part of the Avengers. He relaxes a little, closing his eyes for a moment and forcing himself to take a deep breath, trying to focus on the rest of what Steve says. “Lie low,” he echoes faintly. “Right. Okay.” It’s probably _not_ the worst idea, considering Steve’s apparently now a fugitive and the same people who had Bucky captive all those months ago are the ones after Steve now. And apparently also trying to kill him. He chews his lower lip. 

“Do they know they didn’t succeed? In trying to kill me?” Because if there’d been a bomb, he figures there’s a pretty good chance they don’t know he’s not dead, and that might just come in handy. 

“I’m not sure,” Steve admits. “But maybe. There might be ways to find out.” Tony might be able to hack their communications, or Natasha -- he’s still worried about Natasha, but once she resurfaces (because she _will_ resurface, there’s just no other option), she might be able to tap into what they’re saying as well. “If they think you’re dead… that might actually be better for you,” he says, even though it’s clear he doesn’t like that situation a lot, either. “But they know _I’m_ not, and they’re going to be looking for me. I want to take the fight to them, but not until I have the whole picture, or I could just make it worse.” 

Steve knows he’s not exactly known for his patience, but things are a little different, this time around. 

Bucky exhales. “If they think I’m dead we may be able to use that to our advantage at some point soon.” He shifts his gaze to Steve’s face. “Stark might be right. We can lie low for a few days, maybe come up with a plan of attack.” He presses his lips together, squeezes Steve’s hand. 

Steve can’t help the way his lips twitch into a smile, as Bucky’s already starting to think strategically. It’s nothing he asked of him, and yet it’s not a surprise, either. He was a soldier. He knows how to take shitty situations in stride and keep going. Steve wishes he didn’t have to do that, this time. But he can’t really say how much he appreciates the fact that Bucky can -- and is. 

“I love you,” he says, suddenly -- for that, for a hundred other things, for _everything_ \-- and then he looks almost a little guilty that he just said it. But he can’t take it back. Won’t. Doesn’t want to. “I -- sorry. These are not really the circumstances under which I wanted to tell you,” he finishes, a little lamely. 

Bucky’s eyes go wide at Steve’s words. “You love me?” he echoes. 

Steve grimaces a little -- yeah, way to go, super-romantic circumstances, Rogers. “Yeah? I mean -- yeah. Yeah, I do, Buck,” he says, sounding a little more each time, even if his voice is still quiet. “I don’t think it’s just the hormones talking. I’m pretty sure I just -- love you.” 

Bucky’s heart beats quickly in his chest and he looks down at their hands. “Thought I was gonna be the one to say it first,” he admits just as quietly. “Keep thinking about the words but -- I was kinda afraid to say ‘em.” 

“You don’t have to,” Steve insists, quickly, but gently. “I don’t -- this isn’t me asking you to say it back. I just… couldn’t not say it anymore. After everything.” 

Steve loves him. _Him._ Bucky’s chest feels warm and he suddenly really wants to be much closer. “If uh -- if I move over, will you come up here with me?”

Steve laughs, ducking his head. “God, I would like nothing more in the entire world.” He maybe doesn’t feel _quite_ so guilty for basically wishing he could do exactly that, not very long ago. 

Bucky shifts over to make room for Steve as he pushes up out of the chair, doing his best to help Bucky rearrange cords and wires and IVs. He momentarily considers pulling them out of his veins and off his skin, before Steve simply does his best to climb up onto the bed without jostling him, trying to take up as little space as possible while simultaneously press as much of himself along Bucky’s side as he can manage. “Is this okay?”

It’s a tight squeeze to accommodate the two of them. Bucky’s tall and lean but Steve is a mountain of a man beside him and he almost immediately buries his face into the other’s neck. “Yes,” he whispers. “This is good.” He shivers against him, struggling momentarily but managing to lift his left arm up so he can rest his hand on Steve’s arm. 

“ _Steve._ ” He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of his skin and pressing a kiss to his collarbone, soft and tender. “Fuck, I missed you.” 

Steve can’t really suppress the full-body shiver at the touch of Bucky’s lips; he feels hot and cold all at once, like he wants to roll on top of Bucky but also like he wants to pull Bucky on top of him. Neither is the best idea, but it’s not like their current situation is bad -- like Bucky said, this is good. This is so, so good; Steve worms one arm under Bucky’s shoulders, trying to wrap it around him as the other cuddles close, and yes, this is good. 

“I missed you, too,” he breathes, hooking one leg carefully over Bucky’s, still trying his best to keep most of his weight on the mattress, and not on Bucky. “I feel like I’ve spent more time apart from you than with you since we met,” he laughs, softly, even though it’s not all that funny. It’s just horribly true. “But I think I might be out of a job, at least for a while, so…” 

Of course, so will Bucky. Maybe for longer than a while. “God, I am so, so sorry.” He feels like he can’t stop saying it, but everything feels like it’s imploded in on them, and he hates it. He just wanted one thing to be normal. And now it’s definitely not. 

Bucky’s heart aches at the apology, and he does his best to shift closer. “Shh,” he murmurs, not at all minding the way their legs hook together or the way Steve’s arm curls beneath him. “This isn’t your fault,” he whispers. There are people at fault, that much is certain, but Steve? No. Not even close. He pushes away all thoughts on the store, on his apartment, on his family, focusing solely on the man in bed with him at the moment. 

His soulmate. 

He presses another kiss against Steve’s skin. “I love you,” he whispers, breath hitching in his throat. “I wasn’t sure if -- it’s so soon and I thought maybe saying it too soon would make you turn and run the other way.” There’s an undercurrent of guilt in his voice. “I shoulda known better. Been afraid I wouldn’t get the chance to say it at all.” For more reasons than one. 

“Well, I didn’t mean to beat you to it,” Steve says, curling closer, trying to press his nose into Bucky’s hair, breathe him in. He feels calmer, clearer, and maybe a little more worn out, like his adrenaline has crashed again, but Bucky’s scent is something he never wants to lose again. “It kinda just came out. I’m not really known for my romantic timing.” 

But all jokes aside, “It feels like my fault. It feels personal. The people who did this… they’re the people I tried to take down in the war. I thought I _died_ to rid the world of them, and here they are, fucking everything up for the person who means the most to me in the entire world, and I’d be a lot more pissed about it if I didn’t want to sleep for a week, now that I know you’re okay.” 

He tilts his head to brush his lips over Bucky’s hairline, his temple. “Maybe lying low would be nice. Like a vacation. I’ve never had one of those. D’you think Alpine would like the beach?” 

Yeah, he knows they’ll probably have zero control over where they can actually go, but it’s a nice thought. 

A quiet, choked laugh escapes Bucky at the teasing and he rests his forehead against Steve’s neck, closing his eyes. “Heck yeah. Although she might just think it’s a giant litter box,” he jokes. He’s not surprised Steve’s never had a vacation. Sad, but not surprised.

But there’s still the rest of what Steve said. “That’s the thing, though,” Bucky says quietly. “It’s not the same people, right? HYDRA.” He’s pretty sure he’s right on that part at least -- anyone who’d been part of HYDRA back in the 40’s would either be in their late nineties, or dead. “The people are different, but the idea is the same. It’s damn near impossible to kill an idea, Steve. And that’s not your fault.” If defeating an idea was an easy task, the world would be a lot better place. 

Steve starts to protest, but, “Okay, if you’re gonna be literal about it,” he teases, poking Bucky’s arm gently. “It’s not the same people. Except for me. I just wanted to take cradle-robbing to a whole new level.” 

Bucky snorts. “I’m not sure datin’ a thirty year old is robbin’ the cradle, Stevie,” he teases, managing to squeeze his arm faintly with his left hand. It’s apparently a halfway decent day for it and he tries to remember if it had been at all functional this morning. He supposes it doesn’t really matter one way or the other. 

“Yeah, you, uh, realize I was born in 1918, right?” Steve points out, but he’s not really going to argue that one a lot farther, because it is weird to think about and he doesn’t actually want Bucky to decide this is a bad idea, after everything. 

But Bucky’s still right. It _is_ the same idea. The same organization. And in truth, it scares him, that that idea has wormed its way into a place that should be transparent. But then, when the government sanctions operations like SHIELD, black boxes that aren’t regulated… maybe that’s what happens. It doesn’t sit better with him -- in fact, it sits worse. It makes him think that they’re going to have to do something drastic, and that could end really, really badly. 

But then again, the alternative is a world where it’s okay to hold someone for forced DNA testing. Where it’s okay to lock them away until you even know how to deal with them. Steve can break himself out, but not everyone can. And he can’t let it happen to anyone else. 

“We’re gonna have to do something big. Something deep. We can’t ignore this, and we can’t go at it half-assed.” Steve hums quietly, brain starting to go to work on it, even while he’s trying to just focus on being here with Bucky, which is what he’d wanted all damn week. “But I know we have to wait. I’m not really great at that part. But I can try.” 

Bucky pulls back just enough that they can look at one another. “And we will,” he says quietly. Confident. The relief he feels at Steve using _we_ is immense. He’s part of this, and he’s fully planning to be at Steve’s side til this is done. Til the end of the damned line. “We’ll put our heads together, and we’ll figure this out.” Bucky’s gaze is intense as he searches Steve’s eyes. “And we’ll take them down.” One by one, if that’s what it takes. 

“And until then… I’ll show you how to wait it out. It’s one of my skills,” he says seriously. 

Steve simply settles closer until Bucky looks at him like that, and -- yeah. Yeah, that was why he’d blurted out _I love you_. Because he does -- he loves the dedication and ferocity and loyalty in Bucky’s eyes. He loves the fact that he should be telling Steve to get out, but instead, he’s talking about how he’s going to stay. 

Part of him wants to keep Bucky safe and as far away from this as possible. But that would be belittling everything Bucky is, and ignoring the fact that this has already touched him, in too big a way to back down from. 

“Should I make the joke about old dog and new tricks?” he asks, but he leans in to kiss Bucky slowly, sincerely, before he might have a chance to answer. “I want to do this right. All of it. I want to wipe them off the face of the Earth, and I don’t want to lose you doing it. If we have to wait… I’ll wait. I’ll do my best.” 

Bucky closes his eyes when Steve kisses him, pushing away so many other thoughts and worries. That Steve’s worried about losing _him_ is kind of mind-blowing, in the same way that staring at the Egyptian pyramids or the Grand Canyon for the first time is. 

He draws in a slow, deep breath, shaking his head a little as he grins and then leans in, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead before looking at him again. He’s not sure how he wound up lucky enough to meet this man, to get to know him, to somehow be _loved_ by him, but he’s damned grateful he is. Everything else may be shit right now, but he has Steve. 

And, “You’re not gonna lose me. You uttered the words, Steve. Now you’re stuck with me,” he jokes, leaning in and kissing him again. Truthfully, even if Steve _hadn’t_ have uttered the words, Bucky’s pretty sure it wouldn’t have changed anything. He knows himself well enough to know he’ll fight tooth and nail to stay with Steve, the rest of the world be damned. 

Steve very much wants to be stuck with this man; he can’t help but slide his hand carefully up into Bucky’s hair, maybe cheating a little by brushing his thumb over just the right spot to touch his soulmark. Unless that’s not cheating at all, but playing by exactly the right rules. 

Bucky can’t suppress the shiver when Steve thumbs over his soulmark, but he buries his face against Steve’s throat for a moment, wishing his left hand was working well enough that he could return the favor. And at the feel of that, Steve can’t say his worry about losing Bucky is _totally_ alleviated, but he does feel a little better, a little calmer. He’s never been a guy that needs reassurances but hearing it is soothing, and it maybe settles that roiling, possessive part of himself that he doesn’t fully understand or like, but can’t ignore, either.

“Well, I think we’re stuck in _here_ until tomorrow at least,” he says finally, leaning back just enough to get his head on the pillow and talk to Bucky instead of just kiss him. “After that, I’m not sure, but I know the longer we stay, the more people here we put at risk. But I also don’t want to leave until you’re definitely on the mend. My field medic training isn’t gonna do you much good if you get worse again.” And he isn’t sure he should say it, but the way Bucky had been when he’d found him at home, barely conscious and burning with fever, had been terrifying. There had been so much going on at the time that Steve had had to table his fear over that and deal with the situation at hand, but he never wants to see Bucky like that again. 

When Steve pulls back to look at him, so that they can talk, Bucky draws in a shaky breath. “I think I’m doing a lot better already,” he admits. He knows he’d been pretty bad off when Steve found him. Remembers idly thinking he might actually die -- which is an oddly strong response, an extreme even if it _had_ been AOSD. 

“Good,” Steve hums, because Bucky _is_ definitely better -- awake and lucid -- but Steve wants to make sure he continues on that upward trajectory a little longer before they end up potentially going completely dark. 

And then he has a thought that… well, it’ll either be a good one or a bad one, but Bucky can decide: “Should you call your sister? Or your family? Let them know you’re okay?” Stark Tower might be the very best -- most secure -- location to make a call like that. “Doesn’t have to be right now.” 

Bucky finds himself gazing at Steve, soft, adoring smile on his face, even though he drops his gaze. “I should definitely call Becca,” he agrees, chest feeling tight for a whole new set of reasons. “Don’t think it’ll matter much one way or the other to my parents.” He shrugs. No doubt they’ll hear about the store being blown up -- he knows they watch the news and his dad’s always loved the Times. But they won’t care whether he’d been in the store at the time or not. It hurts to think it, but he also knows it’s the truth.

Steve’s not as thrilled to hear that Bucky doesn’t think his parents will care; in fact, it makes him tighten his arm around Bucky a little, brushing that mark one more time before sliding his hand down around his shoulder. If his parents need to know, he guesses, Bucky’s sister will tell them. “Okay. We’ll call her --” he starts, right before something else suddenly occurs to Bucky and he almost groans, dropping his head. 

“ _Wanda_. Oh god. I need to call her right now. She’s gonna freak out.” Bucky bites down on his lower lip and reluctantly starts to extricate himself from Steve even if it’s the last thing he wants to do. He needs to find a phone. 

“Hey, hey -- hang on,” Steve says, trying to get Bucky to stay in place before he glances up at the ceiling (habit) and says, “JARVIS?” 

“Yes, Captain,” is the smooth, unruffled response to the prompt. “I can initiate an audio call via the speakers in the room, if that is acceptable. Otherwise, I can certainly arrange for a physical telephone connection.” 

Bucky lets Steve still his movements to get up and out of bed, and his eyes widen a little when Steve starts talking to someone named JARVIS. Considering there’s no one in the room, Bucky’s a tad weirded out, especially when whoever it is _responds_. He, too, looks up at the ceiling and then at Steve, eyebrows raised high. 

“ _Who_ is JARVIS?” he whispers. 

“Hello, Sergeant Barnes. I’m the A.I. designed by Mr. Stark to assist with tasks here in the building. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to place a call for you?” 

If anything, his eyes are even wider now and he just stares at Steve, dumbfounded. 

Steve didn’t mean to startle Bucky; still, he grins a little haplessly and shrugs one shoulder a bit. “I thought it might be easier than getting up and hunting down a phone. Mine’s gone for good.” And he isn’t sure where Bucky’s is, but he’ll bet it’s safe with his laptop. He (mostly) trusts Tony not to hack the thing. And if he does? Then he’s gonna get Steve’s fist to the face. 

“JARVIS does more than I could probably explain in a few minutes,” Steve admits. “But if you need anything and no one’s around, he’s really great at getting things done.” 

And, “It’d be just like calling her on speakerphone,” he reassures Bucky.”I can go outside, if you want some privacy.” And then -- “Let her know that if she needs her salary… I can probably cover it.” He looks sheepish, but he has a ridiculous amount of money and he’d be happy to help -- provided HYDRA or the government haven’t seized his accounts, he suddenly realizes. That is a possibility. 

Bucky shakes his head a little, amazement on his face. “Is it --” He glances up toward the ceiling. “Do you have a physical body?” How does this even work?

If you asked him later, Bucky would _swear_ there’s amusement in the AI’s voice when he responds. “No, sir. I am not technically a robot.” 

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, wondering suddenly if he’s really awake at all. This is like _I, Robot_ , except the robot says he’s not actually a robot. It takes him a full moment to shake off the shock and fascination he feels. “Um, yes, please place a call to me, for uh -- Wanda Maximoff?” He glances at Steve quizzically. 

“He’s surprisingly easy to get used to,” Steve promises, with a nod and a tiny, tiny grin, as the speakers in the room connect and the line starts ringing. Of course, the news Bucky’s going to have to give Wanda isn’t a good reason to grin, so his expression grows a little more somber as he keeps his arm around Bucky and waits for her to pick up. “If you want to video call your sister later, we can do that,” he adds, just before the line clicks and Wanda says, “Hello?” 

Steve honestly has no idea what the Caller ID reads when you make a call through JARVIS. Maybe it shows up as Unknown? Or maybe it shows up as Bucky. Or something else. 

Bucky hasn’t exactly considered what he should _tell_ Wanda, but he won’t let her think he’s dead, and he’d rather she doesn’t find out about the shop on the news, if she hasn’t already. “Wanda? It’s Bucky. I -- thought you should know that something happened with the store.” Involuntarily, his voice hitches a little and he closes his eyes, willing himself not to break down. It’s just a place. “There was uh -- a fire. Pretty bad. But Alpine and I are both fine.” 

Steve knows how much Bucky cares for the store -- yes, it’s just a place, but it was _his_ place, and it was a gift, and he’d clearly put a lot of time, thought, and care into it. His arm tightens a little around Bucky’s shoulders just as Wanda says, “What? A fire? Bucky, that’s terrible!” 

And, because maybe she’s sharper than your average girl, or because she’s seen both Captain America and the Black Widow in the store as of late, she asks, “What happened? Where are you? It doesn’t have something to do with your… um, ‘friends,’ does it?” 

Bucky leans into Steve a little more when his arms tighten around his shoulders. He’s not surprised by her question, really. Wanda’s been sharp as a tack since he’d first met her. “It’s a long story and I can’t really divulge details right now, but -- just know that I’m okay even if you hear differently. I gotta go away for a bit, but I’ll come find you when I can, okay? And uh -- if you could not tell anyone you heard from me? I’d appreciate it.” 

“Okay,” Wanda says slowly. She doesn’t sound happy about it -- in fact, Steve can practically imagine her narrowing her eyes at the both of them, even if she doesn’t know he’s essentially on the line, too. “You know, there were probably a lot of better ways to make your life more exciting,” she says, but there’s still worry under her teasing tone. “You’d better come back. And find me,” she says. And then, after a pause, “Should I… start looking for another job?” She doesn’t sound thrilled about it. 

Steve glances at Bucky, but it’s his call, what he wants to tell Wanda about that. 

Bucky winces, exhaling for a moment. “I’ll come back, I promise. I’m not sure about the other part. I’ll have to see where things stand with insurance.” Because if insurance doesn’t come through, there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to even consider rebuilding. “But -- if it works out, I’d love to have you stay on. I can pay you your normal salary still, until I know for sure.” Because he does have some savings, and he’s not taking Steve’s money, despite the offer. “It’s your call.” 

Wanda sighs, but it doesn’t sound like she’s frustrated with Bucky. Just the situation. “You don’t have to pay me if there’s no work for me to do,” she says quietly. “Is there something I _can_ do for you? Aside from staying quiet.” 

And then, “I would like to continue working for you. If I could, if you rebuild. Which you should.” 

Steve does smile at that -- Wanda’s a good kid, and he thinks she’s offering out of genuine like for Bucky, and not just the fact that her job wasn’t too taxing and he let her work on other things when she wasn’t busy. He nudges Bucky gently, just to silently say, _I agree._

“Wanda, if I decide to rebuild, you’ll be one of the first people to know,” Bucky promises, voice sincere. He wishes she was there so he could give her a hug. “For now, just stay safe. But if I think of anything, you’ll be my first call.” He glances at Steve, returning his smile even if it’s fainter than Steve’s. “Take care of yourself. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Wanda says, with a soft tone of finality. “You, too, Bucky.” There’s a soft click as she hangs up, and the speakers overhead fall silent. 

Steve lets out a slow breath, rubbing his hand up and down Bucky’s arm, avoiding any IV lines or medical wires as best he can. “I think you should rebuild,” he says softly, “but I know it’s probably not something you want to think about right now.” 

Bucky’s quiet for a minute, thinking. “I guess I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it’s gone, you know? Doesn’t feel real yet.” He has a feeling it might not until he sees it with his own eyes. And considering they need to go somewhere else to lie low for a few days, he knows that’s not going to be anytime soon. It’s probably for the best. It’ll give him more time to focus on the task that lay ahead: taking down the bastards who’d done it in the first place. 

“Yeah, I understand,” Steve breathes -- and works on wrapping himself around Bucky a little more now, in lieu of trying to offer condolences that he knows won’t really fix it. “Try not to worry about it right now, then,” he says, knowing that’s much easier said than done. “Do you wanna wait to call your sister until later?” And, “Is this a really bad time for me to meet her?” 

Steve’s nearness, the warmth of his skin pressed up against Bucky’s and his familiar scent all make the loss a little bit easier to stomach, _and_ not to think too deeply about. Bucky’s gotten very good at compartmentalizing things -- the Army had taught him a lot about that, and his propensity for getting lost in books probably helps too. This is just one more thing to tuck neatly into a box in his mind to be unpacked at a later date and time. 

Before he has a chance to answer Steve’s question, a doctor -- he assumes, anyway, given the white lab coat -- approaches, looking both surprised and pleased. “Mr. Barnes, glad to see you awake. I was worried,” she admits, gaze flickering momentarily to Steve and then back to Bucky. “I’m Dr. Cho. Are you comfortable with Captain Rogers being here while I go over a few things and take your vitals?” 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky says immediately, no desire to move away from Steve’s arms. 

Steve had been so wrapped up in Bucky he hadn’t really heard (at least, not consciously) Cho come in. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little sheepishly; he doesn’t pull away, exactly, but he does turn more onto his back, keeping one arm around and under Bucky but trying not to attach to him quite so much like an octopus so that Dr. Cho can do whatever she needs. “Hey, Doc,” he offers. “Thanks for your help.” 

She offers them both a warm smile before settling in to take Bucky’s blood pressure and heart rate, taking that moment to study both of them, a thoughtful expression on her face. She takes his temperature as well. “Much better. 99.6. Not quite where we want it, but a lot better than 104, which is what you were running when you were brought in. How are you feeling?” 

Bucky glances sideways at Steve and then back at the doctor. “I’m feeling a lot better than I was most of the week.” 

Steve definitely doesn’t look happy that Bucky was running a fever of _104_ when he’d brought him in. “Buck,” he murmurs, knowing there’s obviously nothing he can do now, and glad that it’s _not_ that high any longer, but remembering just what fevers like that feel like -- and how dangerous they are. He’s pretty sure he would’ve gotten last rites -- again -- as a kid, with a temperature like that. 

He also doesn’t want to think about what might have happened if he _hadn’t_ gotten to Bucky in time -- the actual firebombing of his store aside. 

“Hmm.” She jots something down in his chart. “I need to ask you a few questions. What symptoms have you been exhibiting this week?” 

He hesitates a second before answering. “Nausea. Vomiting. Fatigue. A lot of achiness. Chills and fever.” 

“And when did these symptoms begin?” 

Bucky’s pretty sure he knows where she’s going with this and he carefully doesn’t look at Steve. “I guess it was -- Tuesday? Afternoon.” 

Dr. Cho’s gaze shifts momentarily to Steve. “I ask because we took a blood sample and almost all of your blood chemistry was, essentially, out of whack.” She smiles briefly. “The symptoms sound like the flu, along with dehydration, but given your blood levels, I don’t believe it _was_ the flu.” She shifts. “I need to ask you a question that may make you uncomfortable, so I apologize in advance. Are the two of you bondmates?” 

Steve definitely isn’t sure he’s going to like what Cho asks, but when she actually asks the question, he frowns and shakes his head, figuring this is one that, obviously, either of them can answer. “No,” he says -- because they’re not. They’re _not_. 

And yet he immediately feels like he’s lying, because they’re not _bond_ mates, but they are _soul_ mates. But that’s… something much more private, _much_ less common, and besides -- neither he nor Peggy ever had symptoms like that, and they were also soulmates. So it can’t be that, and there’s no harm in keeping that much to himself. 

It wasn’t the question, after all. 

Although now he’s curious: “Why do you ask?” 

Dr. Cho doesn’t look too surprised by the answer and she jots something else down on Bucky’s chart. “Captain, have you ever heard of AOSD?” she asks gently, not sure if he’s familiar with it or not. It hadn’t been a diagnosis until the late 80’s, even if it had certainly occurred in far earlier cases. 

Steve glances between Cho and Bucky, but he has to shake his head. “No,” he says slowly. “At least, not by that name, if I have.” 

Of course, that doesn’t really do much to alleviate his worry; he glances back at Bucky and frowns. “Wait, is this something you have?” He figures it must be, if Cho is mentioning it, but he genuinely doesn’t know what it is. 

“It’s what I’m trying to determine,” Dr. Cho tells him. She shifts her gaze to Bucky. “I assume you’re aware of it?” 

“Yes,” he admits, cheeks growing warm at the concern on Steve’s face. 

“I’ll need to run a few more tests, but… so far, all signs point to it being the cause of your illness.” She draws in a breath. “AOSD is Alpha-Omega Separation Disorder. It tends to occur in alphas _and_ omegas who have a strong connection but haven’t yet bonded. Alphas tend to get more restless, angry, unable to sleep, have trouble focusing when they’re away from their omega for too long. Omegas tend to run high fevers, get very lethargic, be sick to their stomachs, have extreme anxiety while away from their alpha.” She folds the chart across her chest with her arms. “This is the most intense case of it I’ve seen, if it is in fact AOSD.” 

Steve frowns, not quite sure what they’re talking about, until -- 

“Wait, do you mean bond shock?” he asks, frowning as he uses a term that has definitely gone out of fashion, but was definitely what people called the symptoms that came with being separated from a bondmate in the earlier half of the 20th century. 

Dr. Cho smiles faintly at him, nodding. “Bond shock is what they used to call it, yes. But after a great deal of studying and learning more about the science behind it, its name was changed to Alpha-Omega Separation Disorder, because it only happens to those in alpha-omega relationships, as opposed to alpha-betas or beta-omegas,” she explains. 

“Oh,” Steve says quietly, taking that all in. He probably shouldn’t be surprised -- modern medicine is, in a lot of ways, very different from what he grew up with, even if a lot of things are also the same. But to him, bond shock had been a thing that happened to other people. And he’d never felt it with Peggy -- and now he guesses he knows why. They’d both been alphas, by the time they spent any appreciable time apart. 

“It does sound like --” he ends up looking a mix between surprised and guilty, taking a breath before he admits, “I mean, I’ve felt like that a lot of the week, but I just thought it was, y’know.” He smiles tightly. “HYDRA. And I stopped taking suppressants.” 

The last part is aimed at Dr. Cho, since he’s already told Bucky. “I wasn’t sure I trusted anything they were giving me. But I’ve never been off them before.” So it had seemed like as reasonable an explanation as any, to him. Honestly, maybe it still is, given the intensity of Bucky’s reaction, and how it sounds like it might be an outlier. 

Cho looks thoughtful. “Well, there’s certainly been a great deal of stress, given all of that. It’s possible. Without running some additional tests -- on both of you -- we won’t know for sure.” 

Bucky sits quietly as Dr. Cho explains the condition to Steve, who seems a lot more surprised than he is, but he’s been pretty sure that’s what’s happening since Natasha mentioned it a few days ago. He finally draws in a breath and exhales slowly. “So what’s uh, the solution?” 

“It’s a tricky condition,” she says, after a moment. “It’s not diagnosed that often, but… usually completing a mating bond helps. Those who’ve gone on to do so find that being able to feel their mate’s emotions helps ease both agitation on the alpha’s part and anxiety on the omega’s. Now, I’m not saying that’s the only option, but it _is_ the most tried-and-true method. But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, just yet. I’d like to take another blood sample from each of you and compare it to your samples from when you were first admitted.” 

Bucky knows there are treatments for it that help lessen the severity of the symptoms, but he’s also done a bit of research himself. He knows she’s telling the truth when she says the best cure for it is a mating bond. 

He and Steve haven’t actually talked about it, other than in terms of what Brock had done to him. But a week of feeling like death warmed over has him pretty convinced that he’d rather have an actual solution and not just something that lessens some symptoms. But he also knows he and Steve need to talk about that possibility and all that it entails, because it’s a big deal. He meets Steve’s eyes when the other glances at him, expression calm. 

Steve’s mind, meanwhile, has definitely ticked to a stop at “mating bond.” Because a _mating bond_ \-- well, shit. Of course Steve wants that, he _loves_ Bucky, and he’d meant it when he’d said it. He can’t imagine living life apart ever again. But fucking Brock Rumlow had just tried to force that on Bucky not so long ago, and… everything feels new and fast and maybe Steve’s always lived his life on fast-forward, a little, because death was always just around the corner. But right now… 

Right now, he doesn’t want either of them to be forced into anything. He wants to do this _right_. Even if he’s not entirely sure what that means. 

“I -- sure. Yeah, go ahead,” he finally says, at least on his part. He glances at Bucky, suddenly a little unsure as to what he’s going to find on his face. 

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky answers, even as he grimaces. “I should warn you I’m not a big fan of needles.” Or any kind of medical equipment for that matter, but he doesn’t say that. 

Dr. Cho nods. “I’ll have my nurse come in to do the blood draws. We should have some results pretty quickly.” 

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly, watching as Dr. Cho checks a few more numbers, looking satisfied. He’s seen her face when people are doing well and when they’re doing badly -- the way she looks now is definitely reassuring, even if he sort of feels like she’s dropped a bomb in his lap. 

She ducks out a moment later and he turns to Bucky, blowing a breath out and not sure whether he’s supposed to look happy or sad or angry or… he thinks he feels all of those things, all at once, in a big complicated ball, and he isn’t even sure which one he wants to win out. So he tries for a smile, even if it’s a little weak and worried, knowing that Bucky might really not appreciate anyone else’s teeth near his neck, now or ever again. But he also knows that if it can help, and he doesn’t do it… things are only going to get worse for Bucky, if they get separated for more than a few days. 

And God… he doesn’t want to be responsible for nearly killing the guy he loves every time something happens. Because something _will_ happen. It always does. “I think agitation and insomnia are the better end of the bargain,” he says, not sure whether he’s trying for a joke or not. It probably misses the mark, if he is. 

Bucky’s lips quirk upwards a little and he glances at Steve again. “Trade ya?” he jokes, his own voice more hushed than usual. He shakes his head and lays his head back against the pillow, but more against Steve’s shoulder than anything. 

“I am a pro at fevers and nausea,” Steve promises, but something in him relaxes when Bucky leans close again, with his head on Steve’s shoulder like he’s not suddenly afraid that the cure might be worse than the disease. Which -- is good. Being bonded to somebody you love… that’s good. It’s supposed to be the best. 

“It might be something else entirely,” Bucky adds, but he doesn’t sound convinced, mostly because he’s not convinced. “But if she’s right on the cause… maybe the reason it’s more intense is because of the soulmate thing.” His voice drops so low he’s not sure even JARVIS could have possibly picked up what he said. 

It _could_ be something else. It could be, but something in Steve’s gut feels like Bucky is onto something when he says it could be the soulbond. Because that would make everything more intense, wouldn’t it? “It could be, yeah,” Steve murmurs, just as quietly. “I didn’t -- it wasn’t like this with Peggy, but… I wasn’t an omega anymore. I don’t want to put you in danger just by leaving. That seems awful, Buck.” 

Steve shuffles down a little more on the bed, so their heads can rest together, taking and letting out a few slow breaths. “I guess we figure out if… that’s what we have? And then we figure out what we want to do about it. I want you to be happy -- and healthy. But I wouldn’t force anything on you, either. Maybe if I go back on suppressants… that could’ve made it worse, too, if I wasn’t?” 

Bucky lets his eyes close, humming quietly when Steve moves so they’re closer again. He lets his left hand rest on Steve’s hip. “I know you wouldn’t,” he says honestly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t for one second think Steve would ever be out of control enough to bite him against his will. And neither had Brock. He’d been perfectly in control -- it had been a conscious decision both times. He’s never really seen the appeal of bonding with someone like that, no matter how good it’s supposed to be. 

But there’s also no doubt in his mind if he’s going to bond with anyone -- he wants it to be Steve. He’ll always want it to be Steve. “We’ll wait and see what the tests say,” he agrees. “But I don’t know that the suppressants have much to do with it one way or the other. We can ask, but -- ” He nudges Steve’s nose with his own. “Think that might be an entirely different situation.” He’s also no expert in mating bonds or suppressants with regard to AOSD. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, and laughs a bit, softly. “I mean, I don’t want to be ready spit in everybody’s faces all the time -- just anyone affiliated with HYDRA. So maybe the suppressants aren’t a terrible idea.” Honestly, it’s really hard to say how much of what he was feeling this past week was due to captivity, or suppressants, or the actual threat. But Bucky’s condition was undeniable, which maybe makes Steve’s condition the same way. 

“To be fair, HYDRA deserves to be spat on. Anytime you get a chance to spit on a Nazi, you should spit on a Nazi.” Bucky might have done a little bit of research earlier in the week on HYDRA during some of his downtime in the store when he wasn’t also feeling horrible. He’s sure he’s far from having a complete picture, but he’s got enough of one. 

“Is it bad if you telling me to spit on Nazis is kinda hot?” Steve says, with a bit of a laugh that he definitely can’t hide and doesn’t bother trying. 

Bucky chuckles right back. He thinks that’s the least of what they deserve. “Is it bad that I’d find it hot if you actually did it…?” 

“If I say no, is that gonna be a problem?” Steve asks, grinning a little more. “I think it’s a win-win situation for us both, really.” And being linked to someone who thinks that… it’s as exciting as it is terrifying. And if that person were Bucky -- it feels almost too good to be true. He lets his thumb brush along Bucky’s hip, feeling settled if contemplative, and thinking how funny that is. 

“You know… I don’t think I ever feel half as calm around anyone else as I do around you,” Steve puts in. “I don’t know what that is, but… I’m kinda not used to it. I kinda think I could _get_ used to it, though.” 

Bucky relaxes in Steve’s arms. “Me too,” he whispers. “Feels like… I can think better when you’re around. More focused?” And definitely less anxious. “I’m going out on a limb and saying even if we’re not experiencing AOSD that being around one another helps us both feel more at ease.” Which he assumes is also the soulbond at work, but if Steve hadn’t felt that way with Peggy, too, there might be more at play here than that. 

Things with Peggy had been… they’d been intense, but they’d also been strained sometimes, given that they weren’t always in the same place at the same time. Peggy had made Steve feel more settled in his new body, but she had also made him feel energized, alert, ready to fight. It’s certainly not that Bucky makes him feel lethargic, but he definitely sometimes makes Steve feel like he just wants to crawl under a blanket together and never come out. 

But that clarity is there. That feeling comfortable in himself. “I guess the bad news is, we’re just good for each other,” he murmurs.

And he might even kiss Bucky for it, only right then is when Cho’s assistant comes in, carrying everything he needs for two separate blood draws. Steve hums a quiet apology to Bucky and obligingly sticks his arm out without being asked, in a motion that says he is very, very familiar with the procedure. Cho’s assistant smiles, amused and grateful, and sets aside Bucky’s empty vial to fill up Steve’s first. 

Bucky watches warily as the guy sticks the needle in Steve’s veins and draws blood into the vial. He forces himself to take a deep breath, trying not to think about all the times he’d been poked and prodded in the last few weeks and months. It sets his nerves on edge, but when the nurse is done with Steve, he rounds the bed to reach for Bucky’s right arm. 

Bucky had already said he wasn’t a fan of needles; Steve can see it now, in his eyes, when the nurse shuffles around to the other side. Steve shifts himself closer, very aware of the other man in the room, but intent on keeping Bucky’s attention on him. “So, tell me about your sister. What’s the best way for a guy who maybe wants to stick around you to impress her? I might need some tips.” 

“Quick sting,” the nurse warns. 

Bucky sinks his teeth into his lower lip, turning his head away to look at Steve instead. “Won’t take much, actually. She’s a fan.” He tries not to grin too much at that, relieved for the distraction from the needle in his arm. “And she also hated Brock’s guts, so really… she’ll love you.” There’s no doubt in his mind about that. “But just in case, she can be easily bribed with Oreo cookies. They’re her favorite.” 

“Okay, Oreos and hating Brock. I think I can manage that,” Steve agrees, doing his best to keep an eye on what the nurse is doing without actually watching him directly over Bucky’s shoulder. Fortunately, drawing blood really doesn’t take too long -- and he really does want to know more about Bucky’s sister. He’s heard a little, all good things, but he does genuinely want to make a good impression. “Anything else I should know? You said she’s in school, right?” 

Bucky barely notices when the nurse moves away, finishing the task and heading out of the room quietly with their blood samples. “Yeah. Stanford. Pre-law. She’s also very competitive when it comes to board games. Especially Monopoly.” His lips quirk upwards. “She loves reading. Almost as much as me. Which is good, considering how much reading she’s got ahead of her if she’s planning to be a lawyer.” 

“I can’t even imagine how tough college must be. And you don’t sound proud of her at all,” Steve teases. “I think I’m gonna love her -- almost as much as I love you.” He nudges Bucky’s nose with his own. He’s feeling a little more relaxed, himself, now that the nurse has slipped out of the room, finally feeling comfortable since no one’s likely to disturb them for at least a few more hours, now. “You’re kind of a shoo-in.” 

Bucky slides his leg between Steve’s, a shiver rushing through him at the feel of bare skin against bare skin. “Oh good. I’d be really sad if you left me for Becca.” A soft chuckle escapes him.

He shifts a little to get more comfortable. “But she really is gonna love you.” His voice grows quieter again. “Can’t imagine anyone not loving you, Steve.” 

“Except those Nazis,” Steve points out, but there’s something clearly pleased in his face at what Bucky says. “She sounds amazing, Buck. And I’m not at all surprised she likes to read, if she’s related to you.” 

Bucky grins at that, expression softening at the look on Steve’s face. He has a feeling that Steve needs to hear as much praise as he can, because he doubts it’s something he gets a lot of from people who actually know him. “Except the Nazis,” he amends. 

“We’ll call her tomorrow, yeah? I think we should wait and see what our best plan of attack is. That way you’ll have something to tell her, unless you think she might hear something about the store before then.” Steve definitely doesn’t want Bucky’s sister up all night worried about him, but he honestly has no idea whether the store’s destruction is going to make the local news, let alone national. Part of him thinks HYDRA might want to cover at least some of it up. 

“We should be okay till tomorrow. I don’t think there’s much chance she’ll hear about it tonight anyway.” If it even makes the news. Bucky can’t imagine it wouldn’t at least draw some attention, though. Then again, for all he knows HYDRA has people working at the news station, too, and -- wow, that’s definitely not a rabbit hole he wants to jump down tonight. 

“Plus if I video call her from a hospital bed, she’ll freak out,” he admits quietly. 

“Yeah, that probably would not endear me to her,” Steve admits, although if he sounds distracted, it’s probably because he is. Every inch of Bucky pressed against him feels so good -- grounding, warm, reassuring. It’s like he can never be sure enough that Bucky is alive and well and safe and right here with him. He twists a little, as best he can with his ribs still wrapped up, to sling an arm over Bucky and settle closer, taking just a moment to bury his nose in Bucky’s neck, this time around. It makes him feel smaller again, clinging to Bucky like this, and it’s not really a bad feeling at all. 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky tells him quietly, more than okay with him burrowing closer. He lifts his right hand up, running his fingers lightly through Steve’s hair. “She’d never think it was.” And Bucky would never let her. Not for a second. 

The position isn’t how they usually lie together, but he likes it. Likes feeling like he’s comforting Steve as much as Steve’s comforting him. Likes the idea of taking care of him. He thinks it’s been a long, long time since anyone has. 

“Are you sure your parents won’t want to hear from you?” Steve asks quietly, mumbling a little into the spot where Bucky’s neck meets his shoulder. “I don’t wanna push, I just… wanna make sure.” 

Bucky draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, wishing he’d had the sort of relationship with his parents that Steve had with his mom. “Doubt my father would even come to my funeral if I died, Steve,” he tells him honestly. “My mom…” It’s a little more complicated there. “She mostly just wants to keep him happy, so.” Bucky shrugs. “If they hear about it, it won’t matter.” Because they wouldn’t care anyway. 

Steve doesn’t say anything for a minute, but Bucky can probably feel his unhappy expression against his collarbone. “I’m sorry it’s like that,” he says, not because he feels guilty, but because he feels like it’s a loss -- for Bucky’s parents. And for Bucky. “But I’m glad you’ve got your sister. And that she’s got you. She seems smart enough to realize you’re something special.” Because he is. He’s special -- and strong. Steve can’t imagine going through what Bucky went through, and even when he tries… he doesn’t know how Bucky’s parents couldn’t see the strong person he is, for withstanding that, for picking himself back up, for taking his life back and fighting to keep it. Fighting to let other people have the life they want, too. He’s been doing that for longer than he’s been in the Army, Steve knows that for a fact. 

His arm tightens around Bucky’s waist, and he burrows a little closer. “If you ever think a sternly worded letter from Captain America might do some good… I know a guy.” 

The laugh that Bucky lets out is a little watery, and his fingers tighten in Steve’s hair momentarily before they go back to stroking. He doesn’t know if he’s really anything _special_ , but he and Becca have always been close. She’s a few years younger than he is, but Bucky’s always adored her. And he’s not being conceited when he knows that it’s a mutual feeling. He knows she still has contact with their mom, but she doesn’t have much to say to their dad, and he also knows that’s only gotten worse since his Army discharge. 

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” He kisses Steve’s forehead, closing his eyes. “Think you can sleep like this?” he murmurs.

Steve knows he certainly can’t solve this problem with a few bad jokes, but he wants Bucky to know that even if his parents have divorced themselves from him, he’s got people who love him and care about him. And one of them is right here, and is very happy to stay right here, although while the immediate answer is, “Yeah, definitely,” he also wants to make sure, “I’m not squishing you, am I? I can move if you don’t want me for a blanket. I’d understand.” 

“We’re good. I love having you for a blanket,” Bucky informs him without a hint of kidding. He rests his head atop Steve’s, fingers still gently curled in his hair. “I love _you_.” Just because he feels the need to reiterate it, now that he knows he can say it without scaring Steve away. 

“Well, I love being your blanket,” Steve breathes, because it’s true. Right now, he feels this weird, perfect mix of protective and protected, and he doesn’t want to have to explain himself or this to anyone or anything. The fact that Bucky seems comfortable right here, like this, just means he’s -- well. Perfect. Which is totally unsurprising. 

Especially when he says those words, and God. Steve might never get enough of it. He really might not. “And I love you, too, Buck,” he murmurs, lips brushing the skin just above the collar of Bucky’s hospital gown. “Anyone who wants to get at you is gonna have to go through me. And that’s not gonna happen. Promise.” 

He settles a little more, fingers tangling in the fabric of Bucky’s gown at his hip, and lets his eyes fall shut. “Get some rest, pal. I’ll be right here.”


	10. Chapter 10

A good night’s sleep can do wonders, and Steve has to admit that he’d slept better pressed up against Bucky in a tiny hospital bed than he had the entire previous week in that cell at the Triskelion. By the time he’d woken up, his ribs had mostly stopped aching and Bucky had been miles better, with real color in his cheeks and a temperature hovering around normal. _That_ had been a massive relief, despite the fact that Dr. Cho had come in with breakfast (Steve had been _starving_ for the first time in a week, and even Bucky had seemed tentatively hungry, too) and a diagnosis that maybe shouldn’t have really surprised them: AOSD. 

She’d reiterated, looking a little apologetic, that a mating bond was really the only actual cure-all. But she’d also taken time to go over all the current best treatments for the symptoms either of them might experience, saying it was much more like managing a chronic condition than the need to call for a shotgun wedding these days. Even so, she’d reminded them, albeit gently, that this was the worst case -- at least, with regard to Bucky -- that she’d ever seen, and if they wanted help managing it, they should talk to her or a specialist in bond medicine -- another entire field that had sprung up in the nearly 70 years Steve had been asleep. At least, another _real_ field; there had been plenty of old wives’ tales and home remedies in the 40s, but now it was a real, legitimate scientific and medical field. 

Bucky’s definitely not surprised by Dr. Cho’s revelation, and he doesn’t think Steve is at this point either. But it’s something they’ll need to talk about, and soon. There are a lot of implications and expectations that go with bonding, and Bucky’s not generally prone to jumping into things headfirst without looking both ways and making pro and con lists. Usually. The entire thing with Steve has been life-altering in every way possible. 

Life-altering is definitely the way Steve would put it; he knows they need to talk, and he doesn’t like having it hanging over their heads, but at the same time, he also knows that right now and here aren’t the time and place. 

Especially because, still reeling a little from all that, there’s no chance to regroup before Stark and Barton show up, the former with secured tablets and phones for them both, and the latter with Alpine and two sets of real -- if generic -- clothes. 

When the newcomers join them, Bucky’s still curled up beside Steve even if they’re more sitting up now post-breakfast. Steve blows out a breath, grinning gratefully at Clint as he offers the jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies to them both, the latter in blue (for Steve) and black (for Bucky). “You’re a lifesaver.” 

Unlike Steve, Bucky’s eyes immediately go to Alpine, who meows loudly and almost leaps out of Clint’s arms in an effort to get to Bucky. He wraps his arms around her, closing his eyes as she purrs like an engine, nuzzling into his neck and cheek affectionately. “Missed you, too,” he whispers. 

“Seems like a great cat. I’m Clint Barton, by the way. Or Hawkeye,” he greets as he passes the clothes to Steve. 

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky responds. “Thanks for watching after her.” 

Steve watches as Alpine reacquaints herself with Bucky, unable to keep the fond smile off his face -- at least, until Tony steps in and says, “I still have about seventy-five questions, but the one I’m going to lead with is, where do you want to go? Because you need to go somewhere, I’ve already turned away three separate attempts by SHIELD -- HYDRA, whoever -- to search the Tower and I might have the best lawyers in the universe but we all know that they’re going to get in here sooner or later, and I’d rather there be no patriotic popsicles or their boyfriends -- hi, I’m Tony Stark, by the way -- here when that happens. So. Where are you thinking? I think you’re thinking someplace warm.” 

By the time Stark is done talking, Bucky feels a little dazed, blinking a few times at the rapid-fire amount of information. He’s going to blame it on the fact he hasn’t had coffee in days. He glances at Steve with raised eyebrows before glancing back at Tony, not sure what to say, or if he should just let Steve do the talking. The latter seems to be the safest bet. 

Steve takes a minute himself to take that all in, and it’s not that he doesn’t understand or agree with the principle, but, “Are you actually giving us a choice? How many options do we have?” 

“Around two dozen. But I’d suggest one of the beach options. Malibu is _lovely_ this time of year. Unless you want to literally skip the country, which is also an option. I have a house in the Bahamas, too,” Tony informs them.

Bucky’s heart does a flip flop at the mention of Malibu. It’s a bit south of Stanford, but only by a few hours. Still, he keeps silent, leaving the choice up to Steve. 

But Steve is actually thinking along the same lines as Bucky. Part of him does want to get out of the country entirely -- but he knows that’s not actually the best plan. They might need him, and if they do, they’ll need him fast. The other coast isn’t exactly a short hop, but it’s shorter than most out-of-the-country places. 

And Malibu is in California. Where Stanford is. “Malibu,” Steve decides, to which Tony actually looks a little surprised, like hadn’t expected Steve to make a decision so quickly. 

But he recovers pretty quickly, too. “Great, excellent choice, I’ll have a quinjet set up for you in twenty minutes. Not that I’m kicking you out in twenty, but you probably shouldn’t stick around all day. Coordinates’ll be uploaded into the navigation,” he says, and then holds out the two tablets and phones. “These are secure. Don’t use anything that isn’t. Romanoff still hasn’t gotten back to us yet with who we can trust and who we can’t, so I’m vetting everyone from here.” 

“Romanoff hasn’t gotten back to us at all,” Barton adds, and doesn’t _that_ make Steve’s stomach flip. 

“You think she’s all right?” he asks, shoulders setting in a way that says he’s not going to up and leave if he thinks he shouldn’t. If he thinks Natasha is in danger. 

But Clint just shrugs. “She’s gone dark for worse reasons. I’m not too worried. Yet.” 

Bucky listens silently, troubled expression on his face at the mention of Natasha being out of contact, whether it’s something she’s done before or not. But he’s also kind of stunned from the fact that Tony’s handed him a brand-new Stark tablet and phone. Those things probably cost more than his bookstore had. Alpine curls up and rests on his left shoulder as he stares down at the new technology in his hands and then looks up at Stark. 

“Word has it that Dr. Cho will be coming around to remove your IV. Looks like you’re both doing well enough now.” Tony waves his hand toward them. “But when this is all resolved, I have a lot of questions. For both of you,” he warns. 

“Thank you for this,” Bucky responds, clutching onto the tablet and phone. 

“Thank me when I do something big,” Tony says, but Steve knows better by now than to think that isn’t Tony Stark for ‘You’re welcome.’ So he thanks Tony, too, in the best way he can: “I’ll answer whatever you want. When this is all resolved,” he promises. 

Although -- he glances between his two teammates and decides to address at least one thing right now: “Pierce wasn’t lying. About what the serum did to me.” 

This time, Tony’s eyes widen, if only a little. “Okay, yeah -- now I have a lot _more_ questions. Unless you’re shitting us. Please tell me you’re not shitting us.” He glances at Barton, who looks similarly surprised, and like he’s trying to hide it. 

“I’m not shitting you,” Steve says, smiling a little helplessly. He just figures… his team deserves the truth. Letting them go on thinking that HYDRA was lying about that seems unfair. HYDRA might lie about a lot. But not that. 

Tony looks like he might want to ask some of those questions now -- but then he lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “ _So_ many questions, Cap. So many. Expect a questionnaire. After we save the world from the Nazis who have apparently decided to infiltrate potentially every level of government.” 

Clint is silent for a few seconds, then he gives Steve a small smile. “Well, for the record, it doesn’t change jack shit for me. Doubt it changes things for any of us,” he tells him bluntly. “We’ve got your back, Cap.” 

Bucky’s fingers curl around Steve’s, squeezing gently. Any wariness he’d had about either of the men has been efficiently erased. He relaxes back into the pillow behind him, exhaling. 

Bucky’s gentle grip on his hand is grounding, and almost more soothing than Tony and Clint basically taking Steve’s admission in stride. He’d hoped they would, of course, but there hadn’t been a guarantee. Telling someone you were once a different designation… yeah, it’s pretty much nothing anyone expects to hear, because it’s basically impossible. Except for at least two cases where it wasn’t. 

Steve knows Bucky knows how he feels. 

Bucky still can’t help but glance at Tony again -- if only because he’s grown up hearing so much about the genius billionaire that he can’t help but be curious. Plus, the guy invents _robots._ As much as he loves books -- and he definitely does -- he’s always had a bit of a fascination for technology, too. Maybe if he’s really lucky he’ll get the opportunity to check out the man’s workshop someday. 

“You need us to do anything specific while you’re in California?” Clint questions. “Aside from the obvious.” 

Steve’s smile is grateful, if still a little grim. “Just the obvious,” he says, on a slow exhale. “Find how deep this goes. And then stop it in its tracks. But -- call me. Before you start. I want to know about it, and I want to be here, if I can.” 

He glances at Tony, raising a hand and going on even as he sees the man’s mouth opening. “I know it’s best for me to stay out of the way right now. But I have to be part of the solution. I have to. This is still my fight, even if it’s seventy years old.” 

Tony, who looks more indignant over being cut off than anything, really, just sighs and says, “Fine. We won’t _Avengers assemble_ without you, Rocket Pop. But we _will_ figure out who to aim you at. I promise. Trust me, I may not have gotten along with dear old dad all that well, but I did inherit his hate for everything Hitler.” 

***

An hour and a half later finds them in a _quinjet_ \-- a thing that Bucky still hasn’t managed to wrap his mind around actually even _existing_ , let alone the fact that he’s inside one. With Steve. It’s… been a really bizarre few days. 

It takes him a few minutes of looking around and getting settled with Alpine on his lap before he realizes they don’t have a pilot yet. He frowns, glancing at Steve, who’s sitting in what appears to be the pilot’s seat. Which -- wait. 

“...are you serious?” There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice. 

Steve glances over, and the expression on his face is half-curious, half-smug. “I mean, JARVIS could probably fly it remotely, but I don’t see why we need him to when I can do it.” 

He grins a little, mostly because he knows that Bucky has had a weird couple of days and Steve’s asked him to accept a lot, on top of the things he’s been a part of but hasn’t yet even talked to him about. Sometimes a little levity goes a long way. “It’s more secure than trusting a pilot if we’re trying to disappear off the map.” 

Admittedly, staying in Tony Stark’s Malibu home probably isn’t ideal, but Tony has sworn up and down that the place has enough security and countermeasures to fool anyone and everyone. And Steve does trust him.

Bucky just stares at him for a long moment before blurting out, “Is there anything you _don’t_ know how to do?” Because right now he’s doubting it. Steve loves to read, he cooks, he’s good with cats, he’s an _actual_ goddamned superhero who fights Nazis and helps pathetic omegas out of shitty situations when he doesn’t even know them. Now he also apparently flies really complicated, advanced aircraft that until a bit ago Bucky didn’t even know existed. 

Steve actually flushes a little, feeling a little embarrassed for showing off (which maybe, yeah, he’d kind of jumped at the chance to do. There’s still part of him that keeps thinking that Bucky will find a reason Steve’s not worth it, that he’s too much trouble, and take whatever medication he can for the AOSD that Steve’s apparently given him, and walk away). “I can’t dance,” he offers, which is _also_ embarrassing -- although he thinks it might not mean the same thing anymore that it used to. “And I’m not very good at, uh, walking away?” 

Which sometimes, yes, can be a good thing. But sometimes, he knows, it’s not. 

Bucky watches the way Steve’s face turns a very pretty shade of pink and his chest feels warm as he smiles. It’s not the reaction he’d been expecting, though he’s not sure what he _was_ expecting. “I can’t dance either,” he tells Steve with a shrug. It’s not a skill that anyone has ever tried teaching him, nor one that he’s ever been particularly interested in. His expression softens, though, at the second thing Steve says he’s not good at. 

“Guess as long as that means you’re not tempted to walk away from me, then I can use that to my advantage,” he responds, only half joking. He holds his breath for a moment, chancing a quick glance at him. “I think you’re amazing.” His voice is hushed. “If that wasn’t already clear.” He licks his lips and looks out the windshield of the jet, right hand stroking Alpine’s back gently. 

In a way, it’s weirdly nice to hear Bucky say he can’t dance either; it’s also just plain nice, what he says next, and Steve can’t help the way his heart trips in his chest, because it’s basically _I love you_ all over again, and he will never get enough of that. 

He offers Bucky a small smile and finishes the preflight checks, adding, “It’s vertical takeoff, shouldn’t be bad,” before he powers up the engines and gets them in the air. “And honestly, it’s mostly autopilot on the way; we’re not flying at the same altitude as commercial jets.” 

And then, once they’re in the air, “I keep thinking you’re too amazing to think I’m amazing,” he murmurs over the soft sound of the engines, twisting in his seat a little (and glad that his ribs are healed enough now that he can do that without hating himself) to look at Bucky for a minute. “You maybe kinda make me want to show off. Maybe it’s just a stupid alpha thing.” 

Bucky is quiet for a few seconds, gazing at him. Truthfully he still has no idea what the hell he’d done to deserve someone like Steve in his life, and half the time he wonders if it’s all a hallucination or dream or something. 

It’s his turn to blush, though, at Steve’s admission that he wants to show off because of him. He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I think it’s a you thing.” He pauses at that. “It’s not a bad thing, you just -- keep surprising me. In good ways. I’m not used to that.” 

“Maybe it is,” Steve admits -- because okay, he can definitely admit, deep down, to himself, that making Bucky blush like that is very, very worth any showing off he might be able to do. “But I’ve kinda got a lot to measure up to.” Bucky had owned his own store, had been doing his best to make it on his own, had found a way to reach out for help when he needed it, and had given Steve a chance to get to know him. That all means a lot, and he thinks it means a lot more than Bucky can see. 

Which is why what Dr. Cho had told them feels so weirdly uncomfortable -- because Bucky had worked so hard to stay independent and now it feels like Steve’s taken that away from him, without ever meaning to. When he’d been a kid, he’d always thought bond shock sounded both romantic and terrible. Of course it was romantic, to not be able to stand to be without the person you loved. But it was also a chain, one that could put you in danger if you tried to pull too hard at it. He hadn’t known then that mating would fix it, but maybe it’s what all the scandalized whispers had always been about. 

“You really don’t,” Bucky responds with a tiny smile. He likes that Steve wants to show off for his benefit, likes that Steve has such a high opinion of him even if he doesn’t feel like he’s done anything to earn it. He knows there are certain things he’s decent at -- maybe even above average -- like bookkeeping and running a shop, handling money, networking -- but he doesn’t think any of that is all that special. 

And he’d never really given that much thought to AOSD until recently, had no reason to. He’d been neither alpha nor omega for the majority of his life. His dad is an alpha, his mom a beta, so he’d never directly witnessed anything resembling the disorder growing up. He’d heard stories, even read some over the years. But hearing and reading about it are entirely different than experiencing it firsthand by a longshot. He supposes that’s true with anything.

“You know, we’ve got a while before we get there,” Steve finally says after a minute. They’re certainly flying faster than they would on a commercial jet, but crossing the country is still going to take an hour or two. “If we… should talk. Or we don’t have to. I’m just -- also not very good at putting things off.” 

Bucky finds himself holding his breath again when Steve suggests they use their flight time to talk about what they’d learned and what they’re going to do about it, if anything. “Yeah. We should talk,” he agrees, because he doesn’t want to pretend that it’s not happening. He’s packed away far too many things in his head to deal with later over the years, and especially the last few months. This isn’t something he can afford to do that with. 

Steve nods a little, flipping the switches that will allow the autopilot to engage so he can actually push his seat back and twist it around. If they’re going to talk, he wants to do it face to face. The navigation will alert him if anything comes up. “I don’t… uh, I never planned to _need_ to have this talk with anyone,” he admits, smiling a little shyly. But it’s true -- he hadn’t been a popular guy, and even if he’d believed he had a soulmark, he hadn’t really believed anyone would want to bond with a guy who wasn’t going to make it out of his twenties. And then he’d met Peggy, and then they were suddenly both alphas, and… 

Yeah. There’d always been a reason just not to even entertain the possibility. And… technically, there still is, now. 

“Me either,” Bucky says honestly. Not really, anyway. It’s not something he’d ever really fixated on or thought about all that much growing up, and then once he was in the Army, it was as distant from his realm of reality as it ever could have been. 

“I know I keep saying this, but I don’t want to force you into anything,” Steve insists, by way of opening. “And I don’t. It kinda feels like I already have, though. You were really bad off, Buck. You scared me.” 

Bucky shifts in his seat a little, and then turns his seat so he could see Steve more easily, chewing his lower lip. “And I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this because I might get sick if we don’t.” He doesn’t ever want Steve to feel like he’s trapped with Bucky, and forever is a long time. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I scared you.” 

Steve shakes his head, frowning a little. “It’s not that. It’s just -- I had a part in that. In causing it, and I think that’s what I don’t like.” He certainly doesn’t feel chained to Bucky -- how can he, when he _wants_ to be with Bucky? He just knows that his life always seems a lot more complicated than he wants it to be. Nothing is ever easy, and it’s not like he could promise a mate a stable life. 

Although… he could try. And he has to admit, he might kind of be out of a job, given what’s going on right now. 

“You didn’t, though. Not really. Not -- in any kind of intentional way,” Bucky points out, not liking how quickly Steve tries to blame himself for things. But especially this. “Not anymore than I did. It just...sorta happened. I don’t think either of us is to blame.” He rests his hands in his lap. 

“You -- we -- should have options, if we want them. But I also want to fix it. And --” Steve glances at Bucky, before letting out a breath, and just saying it: “I want to be with you. I do. But I don’t want us to do it if it’s the AOSD or the soulmarks or… something else, deciding for us. I’m not sure if that makes sense -- if you even want to consider it. Mating, I mean. With me.” 

“It’s...probably not a secret that I’ve been wary about the entire mating bite thing since Brock --” Bucky draws in a breath. “Well. Since all of that. It’s not something that I thought I’d want. I wasn’t looking for -- anything, actually.” He gives Steve a small, apologetic smile. “And I never saw you coming, Steve. I guess that’s how it happens. When you stop looking or think you know what your future looks like, that’s when it all changes.” 

Bucky shifts in his seat, leaning forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Thing is, I love you.” His voice is quiet. “And that’s new for me. But it’s also the easiest thing I’ve ever done. It’s so goddamn easy to love you that it’s kinda painful. In a good way. But -- my head and my life are screwed up a lot. I’m kind of a mess.” 

“You’re not screwed up,” Steve says quickly, frowning. “You’re -- Bucky, something happened to you that shouldn’t ever happen to _anybody_. The fact that you’re still here, that you’re still a good person, says pretty much everything about you that anything could. You went through something you didn’t ask to go through, and you came out the other side, anyway. And I love that about _you_. 

“Everybody’s a little bit of a mess. God knows I am. But you never held that against me, either.” Maybe Bucky hasn’t seen a whole lot of Steve being a mess, but it’s there. It’s definitely there, every time he doesn’t quite get something in this century, or he tries to be suave or funny and fails, and apparently he’s been working with, if not _for_ , the bad guys without even realizing it. “I think… love isn’t about not being a mess. It’s about being okay being a mess, and having someone who thinks you’re okay, even knowing you’re a mess.” 

He laughs a little, ducking his head. “I might be making a mess of trying to say that.” 

Bucky’s gaze is soft. “Sometimes I don’t sleep for days at a time. And sometimes I scream myself awake from nightmares.” It’s nothing that’s happened when Steve’s slept over, but eventually, he figures, it’ll happen. “You already know I _hate_ early mornings, and if I don’t have nine cups of coffee a day my brain doesn’t work that well.” The last bit might be a bit of an exaggeration, but he does love his coffee. 

“I have a lot of anxiety and most of the time I can’t even place where it’s coming from, and there’s still a lot about my family you don’t know yet, and a lot of my life choices are -- questionable at _best_. But… I can’t picture a future without you in it and if you can be okay with all of _that_ mess, then --” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I already know what I wanna do. But I need you to be sure. Like, _really_ sure, Steve,” he whispers. “Because I don’t think my heart can handle it if we go much farther and you decide I’m not what you want.” 

“I don’t _need_ to sleep for days at a time. And you’re pretty much the same as every single soldier I knew on the front. Including me,” Steve says, softly. He doesn’t tend to scream himself awake so much as wake up frozen in a panic, sometimes thinking he’s _actually_ frozen again. But the point is, nightmares happen to him, too. And they oddly _haven’t_ happened since he started spending time with Bucky, but he knows better than to chalk that up entirely to the other. Even so, he knows that Bucky helps him sleep better; maybe Steve could do the same for him. 

Besides, “Buck, you have no idea how questionable most of my life decisions have been.” 

But, “This isn’t a contest. I don’t mean to make it sound like one.” Steve unbuckles his seatbelt and gets up, coming over to sit closer to Bucky. “I want your mess. I really, really want your mess, and part of _my_ mess is the fact that I don’t change my mind, once I decide something. I just -- I remember feeling like everything was decided for me and I’ve been afraid, ever since, that I was gonna decide for someone else, and that’s… worse than having you if you don’t want it.” 

Bucky watches as Steve gets out of his seat and moves closer, holding his breath. “I do want it,” he whispers. “I want _you_ , Steve. Now, forever.” There’s a certainty not just in his voice, but all the way down to his bones because he can’t fathom ever _not_ loving this man. Can’t imagine a future without him in it. And he doesn’t want to. He unbuckles his own seatbelt and leans forward, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. “I love you. And I want your mess, too. All of it.” He presses a soft kiss against his jaw. 

Steve wants nothing more than to melt into Bucky’s embrace; he feels relief and terror all at once, even as his arms come automatically around Bucky’s waist, trying not to squish Alpine in the process, but she mostly seems intent on butting her head against his stomach as long as he leaves her enough room. He lets out a breath that’s much shakier than he meant, twisting his head a little to brush a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “My mess might put you in danger. I just -- need you to remember that. I know you can take care of yourself. And I won’t ever pretend you can’t. But I won’t like it, and I’ll probably be stupid about it.” 

He’s not actually trying to talk Bucky out of it. Just… trying to remind him of what he’s getting himself into. Just in case. 

“I know,” Bucky admits, shrugging. And he does. He’s not dumb enough to believe that being Captain America’s mate won’t put him in the direct line of fire sometimes. But he’d been a soldier for ten years. He knows he can handle himself better than a lot of people probably can. “I think I remember you saying something about nothing worth having being easy.” 

He pulls back to look at Steve, small smile on his mouth. “I think you were right. And I think this is worth it. What we have -- I don’t think it’s something that’s… normal?” It doesn’t feel normal. It feels bigger, more important. 

Steve laughs when Bucky throws his words back in his face -- in pretty much the best way possible, honestly. “I don’t think it’s normal, either,” he has to admit, because _nothing_ in his entire goddamn life has ever been normal. Not from the moment he was born, but if it’s gotten him this far, to right here, with Bucky, then… who the hell wants normal, anyway. “But I want it, and I don’t give a shit about normal. So I guess it’s good that I’m the one who likes getting punched, right?” 

Bucky relaxes when Steve says he doesn’t give a shit about normal. Despite how many times he’s wished for exactly that the last few months, he’s glad that wish hadn’t come true. He’d take Steve Rogers over normal any day of the week, and twice on Sundays. “Maybe that’s why we’ve had so much struggle already. Maybe we gotta fight for it to prove it’s what we want.” 

He takes in a breath. “And I’m willing to fight. With you, and for you. For us.” 

Steve feels a little like he’s been punched in the gut, right now -- but if punches to the gut were good. He feels out of breath and a little shell shocked, staring at Bucky and realizing this is it -- this is _it_ , he wants to be with this man and he might actually _get_ to be with this man. It’s a really overwhelming feeling, like he isn’t sure how to actually be that happy, all at once. 

“Okay. Okay, we’ll do it,” he breathes, barely feeling like he has any air to make the words. “I mean -- whenever it’s good for us.” His eyes can’t help but slide down to Bucky’s neck, where the stark, if fading, reminder of what Brock tried to do is still visible if you know where to look. “When it’s good for you.” Even if that’s not for a while, yet -- it doesn’t matter. Knowing it’s what they both _want_ is more than enough. 

Bucky stares at Steve right back, lifting his right hand to cup his cheek. “Whenever it’s good for _us_ ,” he corrects him quietly. He doesn’t want this to just be about him, regardless of what’s happened in the past. He brushes his thumb over Steve’s cheek before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. 

It’s sweet, and chaste, because for as much as _Captain America_ might be used to rougher treatment, Bucky feels like Steve Rogers needs tenderness. Needs gentle, affectionate touches. To be reminded that while he’s an alpha, he’s also a human with human needs. 

It’s not really in Steve’s nature to put himself first; but it _is_ in Bucky’s, to put them both on even footing, and Steve already knew this was going to work out but he can see, in that strategic part of his mind, how they might actually make a _really_ good pair. Bucky doesn’t take shit from Steve, and while sometimes that’s going to be frustrating, he knows that he needs someone like that. And he knows that maybe Bucky needs that from someone, too -- because Steve understands feeling every one of your shortcomings, acutely, but he knows he will love Bucky through any single one of them, real or perceived. 

He can’t help but lean into the touch, fingers curling in the hem of Bucky’s hoodie as he leans in close, keeping that kiss chaste but chasing it, too, chasing more of that feeling. He hasn’t gotten a lot of gentle touches, no -- not since his ma died -- and he loves them, and he wants to make Bucky get that warm, comforting feeling from them, too. 

Bucky’s more than happy to accommodate the kiss with more kisses, smiling softly against Steve’s mouth when he agrees. He knows it won’t always be like this. He knows there’ll be disagreements and fights and times where they’re both frustrated, and that’s okay. Because at the end of the day, he believes they’ll still love one another, that they’ll be able to work through any issues with respect and consideration. Their personalities are complimentary enough that he’s pretty sure that they can make this work. 

“Okay. Whenever’s good for us,” Steve finally agrees when they part, bumping his nose against Bucky’s. “Although maybe I should meet your sister first. Get the, uh, family stamp of approval? Stanford’s not _that_ far from Malibu, I’m pretty sure.” 

Bucky blinks a couple of times, pulling back just enough to look at Steve, search his eyes. “Is that why you picked Malibu?” And Steve doesn’t even have to answer, because Bucky’s certain now that’s exactly why he’d chosen Tony’s offer of the house in California: for him. So that he could see his sister, and so Steve could actually meet her. 

“It might’ve crossed my mind,” Steve admits -- as in yes, that’s exactly why he’d picked Malibu, because all else being equal, it was the one location that meant something. Bucky’s sister is one of the only people he’s talked about at all, and it had seemed like the best possible option, given that. Especially if he was going to need to explain things to her. Like… apparently wanting to spend the rest of his life with Captain America. 

“Yeah, it’s not far. A few hours,” Bucky tells Steve, with a forming grin. “We can surprise her.” And boy will she be surprised. 

“I guess I’m just old-fashioned like that, but I wasn’t going to turn up a chance to just talk in person,” Steve admits. That, and he’d wanted Bucky to see her in person, if he could arrange it. “Tony said to lie low. He didn’t say to hide in one place and not leave.” 

Bucky’s grin remains in place at the admission, confirming what he’d already figured out. “You’re incredible,” he informs Steve, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. “And I don’t know how the hell I got so lucky.” He really doesn’t.   
Steve’s grin is admittedly a pleased one; he hadn’t thought he could go wrong, picking the spot closest to Bucky’s sister, but it is nice to have it confirmed. “I mean, I guess you just really know how to pick ‘em,” he says, because honestly, everything feels like it’s just come down to chance -- chance, that Bucky picked _him_ off the street, instead of anyone else. And he is very grateful to whatever force made that happen. 

Bucky laughs quietly. His previous relationships all had their fair share of issues, though none worse than he’d had with Brock. But this time he really _had_ chosen well, even if it had been completely unintentional at the time. “Guess I do,” he teases, enjoying the satisfied grin on Steve’s face. 

He presses another soft kiss to Steve’s mouth. “I can’t wait for you to meet her, Steve. You’re gonna love her.” 

“If you do, then I know I will,” Steve. “Which I guess is important, if she’s gonna be my family, too.” 

Which is… wow. That’s a thought that suddenly hits him right in the gut. Bucky’s sister would become his family, and… that’s something he hasn’t had for a long, long time. “If she wants that.” 

Steve’s words hit Bucky hard -- in a good way. “She will.” There’s no hesitation in his voice before he affirms that. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead. “It’s been a long time since you’ve had family,” he whispers, needing to acknowledge that he understands why this is a big deal for Steve, too. “But you’ve got one now. With me, and when you meet Becca, she’ll agree with me. And Alpine, of course.”

“Sounds like a pretty perfect family, to me,” Steve breathes, leaning a little into Bucky, just… taking a few seconds to realize that yeah. Yeah, he will have a family, and one that really does sound just right. And if Becca is all the way on the other coast, at least for now, that might help keep her safe. Just in case -- because he knows that anyone connected to him could potentially become a target. Especially now. And he doesn’t know what the future could bring. 

But if she’s anything like Bucky, and he’s sure she is, she’s going to be competent and smart and able to take care of herself. So they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. “I’m really glad I met you, Bucky Barnes.” 

Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s, letting his eyes close for a moment. “The feeling is extremely mutual.” 

***

It only takes a couple of hours to make it all the way to Malibu, which is pretty incredible in Bucky’s book. Quinjets are definitely the best way to travel long distances -- that much he’s convinced of now. And the fact that his boyfriend knows how to fly one is still mind-blowing. 

He’s not really sure what he’s expecting from a house belonging to Tony Stark -- but whatever it is, it isn’t the ginormous, sprawling cliffside house that he’s met with when he steps off the jet, Alpine wrapped in his arms. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he mutters, freezing and simply staring at it for a long moment. Then he turns his head to look at Steve with wide eyes. “Are all of his places like this?” 

Steve is maybe just a little gobsmacked, himself. It’s not that he hasn’t come to associate the name Stark with opulence of one kind or another, and hell -- to him, nearly _everything_ in the future is unbelievably big and shiny and high-tech (helicarriers, quinjets, even the Triskelion, all included). But this house really takes the cake. Steve’s got an eye for design, and this is _some_ design. 

“I… think I wanna say yes,” he says, breathing out before reaching out to put a hand gently at Bucky’s lower back, just to get them moving toward the front door. “I’m not even really sure he actually appreciates it properly.” Or maybe it’s just the fact that to him, the design is clean and futuristic, but also a little impersonal. There’s a lot to tell him that ‘Stark owns this,’ but not a lot to tell him about Stark himself. Granted, everything Tony does is digital, and maybe that’s just a future thing… but it had been a big part of what had drawn him to Bucky’s bookshop (and Bucky, probably). It had personality. A good one. 

Then again, Steve can’t really speak. His own -- SHIELD-sanctioned, which means it’s probably gone -- apartment was still as bare as the day he’d moved in.

Bucky lets Steve guide him toward the door and watches as he produces a set of keys, unlocking it. The inside of the place is no less impressive, even if the style isn’t exactly Bucky’s. He can still admire it -- it’s sleek and comfortable looking even if the decor itself is a bit sparse. “Wow,” he murmurs, glancing around before carefully setting Alpine down on the floor. She quickly scampers off to explore, and he makes a note to buy a litter box and cat food as soon as possible. 

“This place is _huge_.” He walks farther into the house, heading toward the kitchen and dining room to check it out. 

“I don’t even want to think about how many people you could fit in this space,” Steve murmurs, closing the door to make sure Alpine can’t get back out again, now that they’re inside. “And it probably never runs out of hot water.” 

Steve’s still examining the living room when he hears Bucky’s voice from the kitchen -- “Look at the size of this _kitchen_!” He wanders in and blows out a slow breath at the sight. “You know, Tony’s an interesting guy. I think he wants to be generous and he wants people to notice, but he doesn’t actually want them to say anything about it at all. Which is too bad, because he didn’t have to let us stay here, and I think I wanna thank him for it.” 

Bucky’s only met Tony once, but he can’t help agreeing with that assessment, remembering how quickly Tony had literally said not to thank him. He hums softly, considering that. “Sometimes you can find ways to thank people without actually saying the words,” he says, mostly just thinking out loud. “Maybe we can figure something out like that.” He doubts there’s anything on Earth they could buy and send him as a gift that Tony would want or need, but sometimes actions spoke a lot louder than money anyway. “We could cook him dinner, maybe?” He’s tossing out ideas because Steve obviously knows him better than Bucky does.

“Maybe,” Steve considers. He’s definitely with Bucky -- he doesn’t know what they could get Tony, but making him something doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility. “He’d probably go for that, although I don’t know if we should tell him until after the fact.” His lips twitch into a little half-smile, thinking that mostly the dinner conversation would be poking fun of either early 20th-century cooking trends or current super soldier eating habits. Although maybe sitting through that would be its own way of thanking Tony. “But actions do speak louder than words.” 

Which is exactly how Tony works, and Steve doesn’t mind. 

He makes his way through the kitchen, noting that it’s actually filled with enough basics to keep them set for a while, although they’ll need to pick up anything fresh. And after that, he can’t help but wander toward the huge -- _huge_ \-- windows, because he’s seen a lot of views, but never one quite like this. “I think I might get the appeal of California. Just a little,” he says, nose nearly pressed up against the glass. 

Bucky’s glancing around the kitchen, occasionally pulling open a cabinet to look inside curiously, before following Steve to the windows, smiling softly at the awed look on his face. “It definitely has its charm.” More than that, really. The view is incredible, and he stares out over the ocean, leaning into Steve’s side instinctively, and then winding his arm around his waist, letting his right hand rest on Steve’s hip.

“Long way from New York, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, looking out over the ocean, and it’s not like you can’t see the ocean in New York, but this is the _other_ ocean. The one he’s never actually seen. Somehow, it looks different, even if he can’t really put his finger on _how_ , once the water stretches away from the shore. 

He just knows that Bucky’s arm around his waist feels good, and he wants to savor this moment, and every single one like it that comes after, even while he also knows they’re not _actually_ here for a vacation, exactly. 

Bucky exhales slowly, turning his head to look the other direction and spotting a large pool outside. His eyes light up. “And of course there’s a pool.” He’s already eager to get in it, but he thinks they better stock up on a few more clothes before he drenches the only ones he has. “What do you think? Should we relax a bit or head out for supplies?” 

Steve glances down, watching Bucky’s expression as he spots the pool. “Maybe we should get supplies first, so we don’t have to leave again later? Tony said there are a couple of cars in the garage… which probably means between ten and twenty and all of them stupidly flashy.” 

“Yeah that’s what I was thinking. I’m definitely going to need a pair of swim trunks.” He nudges Steve lightly with his hip. “And unless you’ve got some hidden on you, you will too.” Bucky’s voice is light, playful. 

Steve glances down at himself, like he’s actually got to check that he’s not wearing swim trunks. “I guess I will,” he says; he hasn’t been swimming in a long time, hasn’t really thought about it. But Bucky seems pretty intent on it, so he can at least get something to sit by the pool in, even if he isn’t sure he wants to get in. It seems only fair. 

But then Bucky pauses. “Something just occurred to me. If either of us uses a debit or credit card, if HYDRA’s paying attention, they’ll know exactly where we are.” 

And that’s when Steve grins a little and pulls his wallet out of his pocket -- well. The wallet Tony had given him, considering Steve’s is long gone, confiscated by SHIELD -- aka HYDRA. “Got a couple of reloadable cards,” he says, and hands one to Bucky. Steve had needed a little counseling on how money “worked” these days when he’d come out of the ice, but it hadn’t really been hard to pick up. Reloadable Visa cards were great when you didn’t want to be traced, and for when you were extra paranoid: “And cash. Which is what I normally use, anyway. Sometimes being a weird old coot comes in handy.” 

The money is all his; when he’d first been getting set up, Natasha had sat him down and explained, very patiently, about the benefits of multiple accounts. About how even _she_ didn’t want to know about all of his accounts, because someday he might need to be untraceable, even by her. Steve had honestly thought she was being a little paranoid at the time but had, at the same time, acknowledged that people in the future left digital footprints like muddy bootprints everywhere they went. Cash would only get you so far until you couldn’t take any more out, and about six people had been needed to convince him, with growing panic in their eyes, that he shouldn’t just take all his money and hide it under his mattress (which was ridiculous, he’d have hidden it under a floorboard, at least). They’d nonetheless very patiently explained all the measures put in place since the Depression. He mostly trusted those measures. And money wasn’t everything, anyway. 

But still, “This should hold us over just fine.” 

Bucky watches curiously as Steve pulls out a couple of prepaid Visa cards. “Smart,” he says with a smile, glancing at him. “I actually prefer to use cash most of the time. Just don’t happen to have any on me.” 

One of the things he’d learned long ago from his grandpa was not to become dependent on credit cards. He has two that he keeps for emergencies but they’re both carrying a zero balance and he doesn’t dare touch them. He does use his debit card sometimes, if he runs low on cash. But overall, he still prefers actual money. Easier to deal with and harder to part with, which means he’s less likely to spend it on frivolous things. Clothes, though, are going to be a necessity. 

He tucks the card in his jeans pocket and then winds his arms around Steve’s waist. “And if you’re an old coot, then… well. You’re _my_ old coot.” 

“Don’t wanna be anybody else’s old coot,” Steve puts in slinging his arms low around Bucky’s waist right back, pretty sure that from now on, if he can have the chance to drape himself over the guy, he’s going to take it. It’s maybe good they have to lie low right now. He’s not really a PDA kind of guy, but for Bucky he could maybe make an exception. Especially right now, when he never really wants to let him get out of sight again. 

“Good,” Bucky responds, shifting closer when Steve’s arms wrap around him in return. He’s never been the type to engage in a lot of PDA either -- but they’re not in public. 

Bucky leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s jaw before drawing back to look at him. “I’ll pay you back,” he tells him seriously.

Steve shrugs a little to that. “If we’re… uh, I mean, it’s your money, too. If we’re just going to share everything.” That’s what mates do, right? That’s what couples do. Everything he has is Bucky’s, unconditionally, if Bucky wants or needs it. 

Bucky leans in again and when he kisses Steve his cheek this time, he lets his lips linger there. The thing about money is that Brock had accused Bucky more than once of using him for that reason -- which couldn’t have been farther from the truth. He’d never asked the guy for _anything_ , but even on the handful of dates they’d gone on, Brock had managed to make Bucky feel like he owed him something for paying, even though Bucky had offered to pay his own way. 

He knows that his relationship with Brock hadn’t been healthy in any way. Knows that it wasn’t the norm. But he also can’t shrug off old insecurities and worries as easily as he wishes he could. He scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip before pulling back to look at Steve. He doesn’t really know how to put all that into words and he’s not even sure it’s worth it. He’ll just have to figure out how to get over it. “Okay,” he says finally. 

Steve has known Bucky long enough to see when he’s at least uncomfortable enough to try to want to hide it. And Steve knows exactly what it’s like to not want to feel beholden to anyone -- even someone you care about. He actually expects Bucky to argue when he pulls back, and maybe that would’ve been better, because he’s not really sure it _is_ okay, when that’s all Bucky finally says. 

And it takes him a minute to decide whether it’s worth it to pursue that, or leave it be. But Steve’s not great at leaving things -- anything -- be. “Are you sure? I mean -- if you want to split things, we can. I know you can pay. But you just lost your home and your livelihood and I’d rather take care of this so you can take care of that.” Steve shakes his head. “But you don’t look thrilled with the idea,” he murmurs, a small smile on his lips, to show that he isn’t mad, and isn’t going to be put out. “I know what it’s like to not want everyone to take care of everything for you. I do.” 

Bucky’s expression softens at his words and he looks down at the floor for a moment, relieved that Steve doesn’t seem upset, at least. “I’m sorry,” he admits, glancing back up at him. “I just never want you to think I’m using you for money.” There’s a humorless smile on his face and he exhales. “Which I know you wouldn’t, but… there’s some old stuff still in my head. You’re right. I don’t actually have any money at the moment. At all.” Not any that he can access anyway, and even that’s pretty limited. “So, thank you.” His insides are squirming with the admission.

Steve blinks, and then he glances around, sweeping an arm at the house, still smiling a bit. “It never actually crossed my mind. If someone wants money… I feel like they’d go after Stark.” His smile is crooked and fond, but the thing is, he knows it’s not easy to admit something like that. The arm still around Bucky’s waist pulls him closer again and he says, “I know that’s not why you’re here. With me. But I promise, I’ll prove it, too, so maybe it won’t be something you have to worry about, after a while.” 

He knows you can’t just turn worry on and off -- just like nightmares and memories and love and fear. But you can learn that you don’t have to worry about something, even if you did before, and he knows that actions speak louder than words. And, “Honestly… when this is all over, you might be the only one of us who’s employable without having to change his name and his profession.” 

Bucky cracks a smile at that because Steve _does_ have a point. His muscles relax as Steve pulls him closer, though, and he lets his head rest against Steve’s. Soulmark aside, he seriously has no idea how _someone_ hasn’t scooped Steve up before now. The guy is fucking incredible and he’s kind of overwhelmed by it, eyes feeling warm even as he blinks rapidly to clear them. “Nah. If nothing else I’ll hire you to work at the store,” he jokes, letting his right hand move up to cup the back of Steve’s neck. He pauses at that, realization dawning on him. “We can co-own it.” 

Frankly, Steve hadn’t _wanted_ anything to do with anyone, before Bucky. Not after waking up and feeling like the world he was living in was just one big, long dream that was a bad one, more often than not. Things had been okay, but they hadn’t been great. He hadn’t honestly had much left to lose. 

Now, he does -- and he couldn’t be more grateful for it. Or, at least, he’d thought he couldn’t, until Bucky says he’d hire him, and Steve actually laughs a little but is about to say something like, _That would be an amazing job_ , and when Bucky says they could _co-own_ it, and -- 

And Steve just stops, blinking for a second. “You -- you would want to?” he asks, voice barely a whisper, as he just tries to think about that. Tries to think about Bucky sharing something like that with him. Bucky makes him feel overwhelmed a lot, and right now is definitely no exception.

Bucky’s eyes light up at the clear surprise Steve exhibits, and he presses a soft kiss to his mouth before pulling back to look at him. “Yeah. _Yeah_ , it’ll be great. I mean, if you want to.” That store has meant so much to him since he was a kid and he realizes he _wants_ to share that with Steve, who also means so much to him. He brushes his thumb gently over the mark on Steve’s neck. 

Steve’s breath hitches a little when Bucky touches the mark, enjoying the tiny electric shock of heat it always gives him. “Yeah, I’d want to,” he breathes.

If someone had told Bucky a few weeks ago he’d be considering the very real possibility of sharing ownership of the store with anyone, he’d have laughed in their face. It’s funny how quickly things can change. “I mean, I think when all is said and done you’re not going to have to be worried about being unemployable, and I know you’ll still have plenty of world-saving things to keep you busy, but… it’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” he says.

“I don’t know if anyone would want me to save the world. Any government, I mean,” Steve says. Admittedly, Stark and Barton had taken the whole designation change thing pretty well. “I’d still do it, if it needed to be done. But I could do other things, too. In between apocalypses.” Which, honestly, a guy could hope will be few and far between. “Like help out around the store. You’re gonna need a new sign. I know a guy who’s pretty good at making ‘em.” 

But in the end, his teasing smile turns soft. “You’re amazing. Have I said that in the last five minutes?” He leans in, bumping Bucky’s nose before closing the rest of the distance for a long, slow kiss. He wants to make _sure_ Bucky understands just what that kind of life would mean to him. And it would mean a lot. Everything. 

Bucky’s pretty sure that regardless of how governments feel about Steve’s original designation being an omega, when it comes right down to it, they don’t want the world to end. Most of them, anyway, he assumes. And he doesn’t for one second think that if things get bad -- and they inevitably will -- anyone will turn down an offer of help from Captain America. The world doesn’t _deserve_ this man, he thinks, before all thoughts are wiped right out of his head with that kiss. 

“I think we should get to the store before I tackle you to the ground and take a nap on you,” Steve murmurs, lips curved up against Bucky’s lips. “I just want to stay close to you forever. Especially every time you say something amazing like that.” 

“Probably,” he agrees. “But for the record, you make an excellent blanket and I may hold you to that nap thing when we get back.” Stark’s sofa in front of the windows looks soft and comfortable -- a great spot for napping. He’s pretty sure it’s calling their names. 

“You’d better,” Steve grins, chasing that kiss with one more, because how can he not? 

And Bucky presses another soft kiss against Steve’s mouth, too, before reluctantly pulling away. “All right. Let’s do this. You’re driving, right?” 

Steve nods, stepping back and tugging Bucky in what he hopes is the direction of the garage with one arm still around his waist so he doesn’t have to break the contact. “Sure, I can if you want.” 

The garage is… possibly the same square footage as the house itself. Steve is both surprised and not, given that his initial guess seems to be pretty on the money -- there are at least 10 cars, and most of them are pretty flashy. He finally settles on a red two-seater that looks like its trunk is for more than just aesthetics; they won’t need a whole lot, but they’re still going to need someplace to put it. 

It’s also a convertible. Because of course it is. “Should we put the roof down?” 

“Hell yeah,” Bucky says immediately, reaching up to do just that even as he buckles himself into the passenger seat. He flashes Steve a bright grin as he leans back. “Let’s do this.” He’s never been to Malibu before, has no idea where anything is or how far they’ll have to drive to find a store to buy a few things, but right now he doesn’t care, either. After a terrible week, they’re finally getting a bit of a break and he plans to do what he can to enjoy and make the most out of it. 

Steve reaches up for his side of the roof latch, and together they get it down and head out. He doesn’t actually know where he’s going, either, but as soon as they pull out of the garage, the GPS in the dash lights up and he figures he’ll just follow it until they reach civilization, and Bucky can probably navigate with his Stark phone from there. And if not -- well, they’ll just explore a little. It’s nice to be outside without having to worry about secrecy, even if there is a part of him still worried about what’s going on back on the east coast, and he knows it’s still a problem, and he can’t just pretend it’s not. 

“Where’d you learn to drive anyway? Army?” Bucky guesses, glancing at Steve sideways as they start down the road. 

“In a way,” he answers, shooting Bucky a quick grin. “I definitely didn’t ever have the chance, before then. But yeah, I kinda learned on the job. Mostly in Nazi Germany. I can hotwire a car, too.” He glances at the push-start button. “If it’s got a regular key ignition, anyway. But I admit, there were a lot of days all I was good for was pushing tanks out of the mud. I don’t think I actually drove on a paved road until after I woke up.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows rise at _that_ bit of information. No way had Steve meant for that to sound as incredibly hot as it does, but here they are anyway. “I’m not sure which part is more awesome: that you can hotwire a car or push a tank out of mud.” He’s grinning, but there’s just a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks that he hopes Steve doesn’t notice. 

The rest of it makes sense, though, considering most people in New York City and _from_ New York City don’t know how to drive. Nor can most of them afford to own a car, considering the price of rent in most places in the city. 

Steve grins over at Bucky a little, admittedly liking the look on his face when he glances away from the road for a few seconds. It’s a nice image to have fixed in his mind when he puts his concentration back in front of them. “I’ll take whichever of those you want to give me.” 

A moment later, he steals a sideways glance at Bucky again. “You should’ve seen the guy at the DMV, when I went in with my application. It was about the only time I was glad to have a SHIELD handler.” 

Bucky laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, how’d he react? Did he know who you were?” he asks, wondering just how often people recognize Steve when he’s out of the uniform. He knows a lot of people don’t; hell, he’d been one of them. He leans his head back against the headrest, but keeps his body angled toward Steve so he can see him better. 

“He didn’t mostly because he wasn’t expecting see me, I think,” Steve says. “It was only a couple of weeks after the Chitauri and people still weren’t sure I wasn’t some new guy in the old colors, and not the same person. So he thought I was shitting him with my birthdate until my handler stepped in with a whole buncha paperwork, and somehow it went through.” 

Bucky can’t help but chuckle as he pictures the scene, imagining the shock on the DMV worker’s face when he finally realized the actual _Steve Rogers_ was standing there signing up to get his driver’s license. 

He also can’t help but notice how angelic Steve looks, with the sunlight catching in his blond hair, giving him an ethereal glow as he focuses on the road ahead. Bucky draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, willing his left hand to move because he really wants to reach out and wrap his fingers around Steve’s right hand, but today apparently isn’t a day that’s going to happen when the most he can do is get his arm to twitch a little. 

Steve’s got Bucky in his peripheral vision, mostly paying attention to the road but the serum lets him split his attention a lot easier than most people can. It’s the only reason, he thinks, he doesn’t miss that little twitch; and that’s what makes him drop his right hand off the wheel, sliding it into Bucky’s, fingers casually finding their way between the other man’s while he steers with his own left hand. He doesn’t know what Bucky was going for, but he hopes this might be close enough. “I used to want people to pay more attention to me, when all they usually did was overlook me. But before you figured out who I was, all I wanted was for you to keep treating me like a person, instead of a guy in your history book,” he admits. 

Bucky’s expression softens when Steve reaches his hand out and slides their fingers together. He smiles softly at how Steve had either been thinking the same thing or that he’d somehow picked up on his nonverbal cues well enough to know it’s what he’d wanted. A quiet, contented sigh escapes him and he closes his eyes for the briefest of moments before opening them and gazing at Steve again. “Wanna hear all about your history, pal, but not because you’re a celebrity superhero,” he tells him.

“I dunno, you could probably make a lot of money with a tell-all,” Steve jokes, only because if he doesn’t joke about it, he’ll either get mad or depressed about it. “Especially after HYDRA told everyone about my designation.” 

That’s… something he’s still not sure how to deal with. But while Bucky is probably the only other person on the entire planet who understands, it’s also very, very close to home for him, and Steve doesn’t want to make it worse by bringing it up more than he already has. It’s not like he’s the only one who’s been hurt over that kind of information coming out. In fact, he believes he had a lot less to lose than Bucky. A reputation is one thing. The bookshop your grandfather left you is definitely another.

“But sure. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Anytime. I promise.” He flashes Bucky a smile, squeezing his fingers gently, but enough that Bucky should be able to feel it, even through the nerve damage. 

Bucky can’t squeeze Steve’s hand with his left one today, so he reaches out and covers their hands with his right instead. He knows he can’t avoid thinking about everything forever, and he won’t. He has to figure out how to tell Becca the news, for one thing. And for the other -- he can’t just check out of his life anytime he wants to. Not anymore. Not when he has a reason to stay checked into it. 

And Bucky has no idea how the general population is going to handle the news about Steve, how the government is ultimately going to choose to handle it. They may end up having to leave the country entirely, forever. 

Steve brushes his thumb over Bucky’s right hand when it comes to cover his. “First, though, I think I need you and your phone to figure out where we should go. We need stuff for Alpine too, right?” 

Bucky draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah, I can do that.” He reluctantly pulls his hand away once more, reaching into his jeans pocket for the Stark phone (and holy shit he still can’t believe he actually _has_ a Stark phone). “Definitely going to need a litter box and kitty litter and food,” he agrees as he messes with the phone, trying to figure it out. A moment later, he manages to pull up directions to a nearby store. “Here we go. All right, just stay on this road for the next six miles and then we’ll be making a right.” 

Steve nods a little as Bucky gives him directions. “Yes, sir,” he says, and leaves his hand in Bucky’s as he follows the road and the directions to the store, where they pick up everything they need for two humans and one cat for at least a week, even if Steve isn’t sure whether they’ll be here that long -- or longer. If it’s longer, they can just come back. And if not, well, he’d rather be overprepared than underprepared. 

At least Tony’s place has most of what they need, so all they really have to buy are the things for Alpine, a couple sets of clothing each, and the fresh food that isn’t already stocked at the place. That includes swim trunks for the both of them, which is actually a new experience for Steve. As they’re headed back, he murmurs over the sound of the wind, “D’you know, I’ve never had a bathing suit before. You used to swim bare-ass naked at the Y.” 

Bucky’s just taken a drink of the water he’d gotten on their way out of the store and at _that_ piece of information, he promptly chokes. He coughs and sputters a few times before turning to look at Steve wide-eyed. “Seriously?” He certainly doesn’t remember any details like that from any of his history books. His cheeks have grown warm at the thought, though, because it’s impossible _not_ to let his mind go there when Steve just drops that tidbit into his lap like it’s not a big deal.

Steve definitely glances over, grinning in a sheepish way that says maybe he’s kind of amused by the reaction, all the same. “Yeah. I mean -- don’t get all excited. I was nothing to look at, and everybody sure as hell made sure I knew it.” 

Bucky feels his cheeks get hotter at Steve’s teasingly telling him not to get excited. He makes it a mental note to find some pictures of what Steve had looked like _before_ Project Rebirth, merely out of curiosity. He knows he’s seen some before, but he’d never really paid attention. Back then, there’s a lot he hadn’t paid attention to. 

Steve’s grin doesn’t betray anything but mirth. “I guess it’s a good thing there were a couple of other guys in the locker room, the first time I went down to my local one last year. I definitely did not end up in the pool that day.” Or any other, really. He’d never actually gotten around to getting a suit and going back. Hadn’t thought about it much, either. 

A chuckle escapes Bucky involuntarily at the idea of Steve going to the local Y, under the assumption people still swim buck naked in public places. “Oh man.” He lays his head against the headrest. “I mean, if it makes you more comfortable to swim naked, Steve, by all means, I’m not about to stop you.” Because if he’s blushing, then Steve should be, too, dammit. 

“Aw, no, I wouldn’t want to offend your modern sense of propriety,” Steve puts in, but he maybe looks a little embarrassed, too. It’s one thing to do it when it’s the norm. It’s another to be the only person who thinks it’s still the norm. Besides, Steve has maybe never been all that comfortable with his own naked body. Strangely enough, Rebirth didn’t exactly change that, just… changed the things that embarrass him. He’s never looked like everybody else and he never will, regardless of where the differences lie. 

“I have had kids ask me what life was like before electricity and running water, though,” he adds, grin now a little lopsided. “That’s always a fun one to answer.” 

“Gotta admit, they skim over a lot of that stuff in schools.” Bucky’s still grinning, too, amused. “What _was_ it like before electricity existed?” he jokes. 

Steve snorts and reaches out to bump Bucky’s shoulder gently with the side of his hand. “You know, somehow we managed. There was a lot of telling stories around the campfire, with nothing else to do at night.” 

Which had kind of been true -- just out on the front, not actually back at home. 

Bucky laughs at that gentle bump. “See, now that part sounds familiar, except it was in Afghanistan and not at home.” He’d had a good unit of people, most of whom were gone now. He doesn’t let his mind go there, though. 

“We didn’t have a shower, though. I’ve got to admit, it’s a lot faster than filling the tub,” Steve says. “I also have to admit that, based on the tower, I’m kind of afraid to actually see what kind of bathrooms Tony has in this house. The shower might be big enough to throw a party in. You should be prepared.” 

Apparently, Bucky’s got a bit of a one-track mind today. Especially when Steve mentions a shower big enough to throw a party in, because he scrapes his teeth over his lower lip. “Sounds like it could be useful.” His voice is a little more hushed than before. “And environmentally friendly,” he adds, teasing, and mostly because he doesn’t want Steve to get the impression he’s suddenly a horndog. He’s _not_ , but today the ideas are sticking in his head in a way they hadn’t before, and he’s not sure why. Maybe it had been the week-long separation, or how close they’d come to dying last night, or maybe it’s the California air. He doesn’t know, really.

Steve knows he’s maybe being a bit of a tease; still, there’s something in him that can’t help but maybe push, just a little -- testing, more than anything, because it’s new for him. He hadn’t exactly flirted with Peggy this way, but things had been different, for more reasons than one. But things with Bucky are different, and he’s said it before, and meant it -- he doesn’t want to be like Brock. He _isn’t_ like Brock. He won’t actually push for anything Bucky doesn’t want to give, for as long as Bucky doesn’t want to give it. He understands that it might be a long time, and he understands that joking about things doesn’t mean they’ll come to fruition. 

But still, he likes the way it makes Bucky look -- he likes the color in his face and the laughter in his voice, and he really likes the way Bucky looks when he does that thing with his mouth. It makes Steve feel more comfortable in his skin, not less, and if he wants to chase that feeling… hopefully Bucky won’t mind that much. 

“I do keep wondering when the hot water’s gonna run out,” he puts in, turning them off the road finally and onto the long, long drive that will take them up to Tony’s house. “It doesn’t seem to be as big a problem these days, but still…” 

Bucky knows it’s unusual that they haven’t gone any farther with one another than some kissing and light touching. Especially given that they’re actually soulmates. But Steve is from a different time, and Bucky’s -- getting past things with Brock. Steve hasn’t pushed him in any way and he hasn’t pushed Steve and it’s been good. But he’d be lying if he said he isn’t enjoying the way they’re teasing one another, dangling possibilities in front of each other even if it might not go much farther than that. 

“It would be a shame if it were to happen. One of us would have to suffer through a cold shower.” He grimaces, but it’s all in jest. 

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ve both had enough of those in the Army to last a lifetime,” Steve agrees, as the house finally comes into sight. He gives Bucky another grin. “Do you still want to try out that pool today?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. You up for that?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean… I’m pretty sure ‘lie low’ means ‘don’t do anything suspicious,’ and it would be suspicious not to try it out. It is right there, after all.” Steve’s not used to the level of luxury that Tony clearly is, given every residence of his that Steve has ever seen. But he honestly thinks that, given everything, Bucky could use a bit of a break, and Steve is more than happy to indulge him. Even if he’s not good at relaxing, making sure Bucky can relax seems like the next best thing. 

Maybe it’ll even help him figure out how to really, truly stop worrying about everything happening on the other side of the country, just for a little while. He knows the situation will need him to come back sooner rather than later, and he wants to make sure that Bucky has had enough of a chance to recuperate by then. 

They pull up, and Steve shuts the car off, hopping out so he can start loading up his arms with their purchases. He can get the bags and boxes, he figures, so Bucky can get the door and Steve can bring it inside without having to put everything down on the way. “Let’s get Alpine set up and get changed.” 

Somehow Steve manages to gather all their stuff before he even has a chance to help. It’s actually kind of impressive how easily he grabs it all in one trip, so Bucky focuses on unlocking the door and opening it for him, then reaches out to help him unload. “All right, sounds like a plan. Meet you out there in fifteen minutes?” He figures that’s more than enough time to set up Alpine’s litter box and get changed into the swim trunks he’d picked out. 

“You got it,” Steve agrees, letting Bucky take a few of the bags once they’re inside. “I’ll go pull the car in first.” He figures it’s safer if the place doesn’t look occupied from the front, after all. 

It doesn’t take long to get the car into the garage, or to put the fresh food away before taking the bag with his own swim trunks to the nearest bathroom that he can find. It takes only a minute to get changed after that, and it’s not long before Steve is padding out onto the patio in bare feet in his swimsuit and t-shirt. It’s funny, but now that stripping naked just isn’t what’s done, he feels a little extra self-conscious. 

It takes Bucky a little longer to make it outside, mostly because he _is_ having such a rough day with his left arm. Days like today always take him longer to accomplish simple tasks, which is frustrating sometimes, but he does his best to take it in stride. He finds himself standing in front of a mirror after he’s changed into the swim trunks he’d gotten, gaze drawn to his left arm. Steve’s seen it before, of course, but Bucky still hates the way it looks. He can’t imagine it’s a pleasant sight for anyone else, either. 

Sighing, he tugs a long-sleeved shirt over his head, pets Alpine, who’s currently settled herself atop the bathroom sink, and then makes his way out to the pool. He spots Steve immediately and some of his negative thoughts begin to fade away. “Fancy seeing you here,” he teases. 

Steve has seen his arm before, and it doesn’t bother him -- it doesn’t take away from the way Bucky looks (which is damn good), but he knows that Bucky doesn’t necessarily feel that way. And Steve certainly knows what it’s like not to like parts (or all, sometimes) of your body. He knows that all the reassurances in the world won’t make Bucky like it any better; he isn’t sure if there’s anything he can do, except to treat it like it’s completely normal, because like he’s said, actions speak louder than words. If he acts like Bucky is the handsome man that he is, maybe, after long enough, Bucky will start to believe it, too. 

He glances over from where he’s standing by the pool, surveying it like he’s searching for sharks. The sight of Bucky makes him smile, though, and turn back toward him. “Hey, stranger. Those look pretty good on you.” 

They do. He can’t miss the long-sleeved shirt, and part of him suddenly guiltily wonders if Bucky could have used some help getting changed. But he isn’t sure Bucky would’ve wanted it, anyway. “Think I might soak up some sun, first,” he admits, because something about staring at the pool… has him not really all that excited to get in. But he still wants to spend time out here -- and spend time with Bucky. 

Bucky’s not sure what to think about the intensity with which Steve’s staring into the pool, but he watches it fade quickly when the other turns to look at him. He returns the smile easily and nods his agreement. It’s been awhile since either of them have had the opportunity to just bask in the sunlight for a while, even if Bucky knows he needs to be careful so he doesn’t burn. “Of course.” 

Steve was never much of a sunbather as a kid, but that’s mostly because he didn’t have the time or the means. Now, though, he can’t really burn (or if he does, it fades in a couple of hours) and just because his body tends to self-regulate its temperature doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate sunlight when he can get it. He grins at Bucky and heads over toward the few loungers lined up along the side, pulling one closer to the pool because if he’s going to spend time with Bucky, then he’s going to do it close by. 

Meanwhile, Bucky moves toward the side of the pool and dips his toes in, almost surprised by the warmth of the water. He hesitates a second, then reaches down with his right hand and tugs his shirt up and over his head, not daring to chance a look at Steve as he does so. He folds it up and drops it onto one of the patio lounge chairs. It’s tempting to just jump in instead of using the pool ladder, but it also seems foolish given his left arm. So he makes his way to the ladder and eases himself down into the water, closing his eyes momentarily. 

It feels like wading into a warm bath, rather than the cool water he remembers from competitions in high school. Once he’s all the way in the water, he ventures a glance at Steve and smiles. “Not sure if the pool’s actually heated or if it’s just from the sun, but it feels amazing.” 

Steve very deliberately doesn’t stare when Bucky shucks his shirt; but nor does he ignore him completely, despite the fact that Bucky’s not looking at him. It’s definitely clear that his left arm isn’t having a good day, but Steve trusts that it won’t be a problem in the pool as Bucky lowers himself in, and Steve wouldn’t trade the satisfied look on his face for anything. 

Steve, for his part, has lowered himself down onto the side of the lounge chair, just watching Bucky with a grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s heated,” he admits, “but I don’t know if you really need it out here, either. Definitely not my area of expertise,” he laughs -- and, because Bucky did it, he reaches down to yank on the hem of his own shirt and pull it up over his head. That way, they’re both even. “I honestly wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I lived someplace without winter.” 

“Mine either,” Bucky tells him with a smile, pausing and not quite able to keep himself from looking at Steve as he strips his shirt off. It’s not the first time he’s seen Steve without a shirt, of course, but it still feels like a punch to the gut that leaves him a little breathless each time it happens. In a good way. His boyfriend is gorgeous and there’s no denying that. He moves so he’s more in front of Steve and he leans his right arm on the edge of the pool, peering up at him. “I like winter.”

“Me, too -- except when I had to live outside in it,” Steve grins. Bucky might have spent his time on duty without winter, but Steve and the entire Army deployed to the European theater had dealt with brutal winters full of frostbite and poor morale. Admittedly, Steve had been pretty immune to the frostbite part of it, but it hadn’t always been pleasant. It hadn’t always been bad either, though, and he still likes the turning of the seasons -- although admittedly a lot more from inside someplace warm. 

““Yeah, I’ll pass on winter camping,” Bucky answers with a laugh. “I gotta admit, the sun’s pretty nice after months of cold weather.” Bucky had gone without dealing with much winter weather for the majority of his adult life, thanks to being stationed overseas for most of it. And this year hadn’t exactly lent itself to enjoying the season, all things considered. But there had been a handful of days before he’d taken over the store, where he’d spent time curled up in his loft reading and staring out the window at the falling snow. There’d been something inherently peaceful about it. 

“You ever been sledding?” he asks.

Steve considers the question, tilting his head as he has to admit, “Not really, no. Never went outside the city limits as a kid, and it wasn’t exactly a priority in the Army. I mean -- I know how it works. But I’ve never done it. Skiing, either. And… snowboarding? That’s a thing, now?” 

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the pool, enjoying the way the warm water helps soothe the aches and pains in his body. He stores that piece of information away for later. “Yeah, that’s a thing now, too. Not a me-thing because I’m pretty sure I’d end up breaking something. But sledding’s fun. Becca and I used to sled down this hill by our old apartment when there was enough snow.” 

He meets Steve’s eyes. “Guess we’ll have to start making a list of things we need to do this winter. Number one: take Steve sledding.” 

Steve laughs, but honestly, it sounds amazing. Everything sounds amazing with Bucky, who _looks_ pretty amazing -- and maybe just a little alluring -- leaning over the edge of the pool and watching him like that. It’s enough to make Steve itch to get closer to him, and he finds himself getting up off the chair and drifting over to the side of the pool, settling on the edge and twisting to dunk his feet in. The water _is_ warm, and he swishes them around a little, reaching out to touch the side of Bucky’s face, fingertips brushing over the damp skin. 

“Sledding sounds good,” he confirms. “I bet we could also build a pretty great snow fort. That’s supposed to be fun, right? Or is that too over the top?” 

“Hell no. It’s not over the top at all.” Bucky leans into the touch, eyes closing momentarily at the feel of his warm hand against his cheek. “I’d love to build a snow fort with you. Or a snowman. Or both.” His lips twitch upwards into a smile and he looks up at Steve again, shifting so that his body is stretched out and brushing up against Steve’s legs dangling in the water. 

“Might as well put both on the list,” Steve murmurs, fingers curling against Bucky’s cheek for a moment, even as Bucky presses closer to his legs and says, “Right now, though, I’m wondering if maybe you’re gonna come down here with me.” 

Well, how can he refuse an invitation like that? “I think maybe I am.” Steve runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair, then pulls his hand back enough that he can just twist himself around enough to push off the side of the pool and into the water. It is warm and it feels good, but there’s this weird, sinking feeling in his stomach and this strange constricting tightness around his chest as his feet swish through the water without touching the bottom and the water laps up at his chin and --

And suddenly his heart is racing and he can’t breathe -- he can’t breathe because the cockpit is filling up with water and he knows it’s useless to hold his breath, but he can’t _not_ because he’s afraid, he knows he was willing to die but he can’t help but be afraid, now, alone as the heat leaches out of him and why can’t he get his feet on solid ground? Where’s the deck?

One minute, everything is fine. Steve is sliding into the water with him and Bucky’s smiling at him, pleased with the response and looking forward to slipping his arms around him, and next there’s an unmistakable flash of _terror_ on the blonde’s face. “Steve?” He reaches out to grasp onto his arm, trying to figure out what’s happening. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.” 

But Steve kicks his feet beneath him, holds his breath -- and suddenly it dawns on him that maybe Steve can’t swim at all. He shifts closer, uses his right arm to anchor the man to his side, above water. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

Steve hears Bucky’s voice, but at first it doesn’t register. Then it _does_ register, but -- but he was alone, he did this _alone_ , and Bucky can’t be here with him. He can’t, he’ll drown, too, and drowning is _horrible_ and he never wants Bucky to go through that -- 

He lets out the breath he’s holding, but even though he sucks more air in, it still feels like he can’t get enough into his lungs, breathing panicked as he flails a little, as if maybe he can push Bucky away, out of the cockpit, get him free somehow. “You have to _go_ , you can’t be here --” 

It’s clear as day to Bucky that Steve isn’t really _there_ at the moment. He’s not sure where he is, but it’s nowhere good, that much is certain. Steve’s trying to push him away, flailing in the water and he’s _seen_ this before, more than once. There’s only one clear solution, and that’s to get Steve out of the pool as quickly as possible. 

“Steve, focus on my voice, okay? I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” Bucky kicks his own legs, pulling them away from the side of the pool and toward the shallow end. It’ll be easier to pull him out from that end. He swims with Steve pressed tightly to his side, right arm wrapped around him and, since his left arm isn’t very helpful at the moment, he depends on his legs to keep them above water. 

“You have to go!” For Steve, seconds feel like hours, as time slows down and panic is the only thing he can feel. He’s not helpful in the least as Bucky pulls him toward the side of the pool, but at least his flailing isn’t as directed or effective as it would be if he were actually aware enough to be coordinated. All he can think is that he’s killed Bucky, too, that they’re going to drown together and he’ll wake up alone, _alone_ , knowing it’s his fault Bucky is gone. 

Years and years of muscle memory kick in and Bucky pulls Steve to the shallow end of the pool, then maneuvers himself up and onto the ledge, gritting his teeth and pulling the other man out the way he’d been trained so long ago. 

It isn’t until Bucky is hauling him bodily up out of the pool and onto the deck that Steve registers… the air is warm. The air is warm and the water dripping off him is warm and everything is green, not white, and Bucky’s -- 

Oh, God, of course Bucky’s not trapped with him, because it’s 2014 and not 1945 and he doesn’t know what happened, but it feels like he’s just woken up from a nightmare and his adrenaline crashes at exactly the same time that crushing shame tries to flatten him. He was just supposed to get into the pool. Get into the pool and swim with his boyfriend, not… not forget what year it was or that he’s not in the cockpit of a crashing plane. 

“Fuck,” is about all he can say, trying to roll over onto his side, away from Bucky, trying to hide his face. This time, when he flails, it’s deliberately because he doesn’t want Bucky to get near him. “Fuck, Bucky -- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t -- are you okay?” 

Fuck, he could have _actually_ pulled Bucky underwater or knocked him unconscious and _actually killed him_ , he’s an idiot and he can’t stop shaking and he definitely can’t look Bucky in the face. 

None of Steve’s words register as Bucky pulls him from the pool. Adrenaline is rushing through him and all he can focus on is getting him out, and when he does, he leans over him, peering down with worried eyes even as Steve rolls away and onto his side. He lets him, though he reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, his own heart pounding hard in his chest. He takes a slow deep breath, willing down his nerves and his own racing thoughts so that he can focus on Steve and what he needs. 

“Easy. It’s okay,” he murmurs, shifting closer and stroking Steve’s hair back. “Easy. You’re all right. I’m fine. Everything’s okay.” He sits back on his ankles, then moves so that he’s practically draped over him, trying to warm him up. “Breathe. Slow and deep, with me.” He breathes along with him, resting his right hand over his heart. 

Steve does respond better to Bucky letting him turn away that he would have to Bucky trying to pull him back around. Even so, he’s tense when Bucky touches him, shaking his head a little and squeezing his eyes shut, like that might make this go away, like it might convince him he’s dreaming so he can just wake up. 

“I could’ve -- that’s never -- I don’t know what _happened_ ,” he finally gets out, from between clenched teeth. He knows, on some level, what happened -- he lost his mind and thought he was somewhere else. But that’s… it’s never happened that bad while he’s been awake, never not been something he can just shrug off. Never been something _dangerous_ , and he’s only half-heartedly trying to actually follow Bucky’s instructions to breathe, chest stuttering even as his heart pounds under Bucky’s hand. “I’m sorry.” 

He wants to take comfort in Bucky, lean back against his body heat, but he can’t. He shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve to. He feels drained dry, all of a sudden, but he also feels too keyed up to relax and go limp. 

“No apologies necessary, Steve,” Bucky says quietly, voice full of sincerity. “It’s okay.” He rests his forehead against the back of Steve’s neck momentarily, breathing slowly and willing his own calmness onto Steve, because he feels the way his heart is still racing. “Think you had a flashback, Pal,” he murmurs. He’s not sure what had brought it on, but he’s had enough of them himself that he’s familiar with the symptoms. With the aftermath. He knows how draining it is, how you only want to crawl into bed beneath the covers and get as far as you can away from whatever it is that brought the attack on. 

_A flashback_ , Steve thinks muzzily, and tries to make that word make sense, tries to remember what it means, and slowly, slowly, the whole of what happened comes back to him, from sliding into the pool to being so sure he was in the cockpit if the Valkyrie, to trying to get Bucky to leave, to get out, so he wouldn’t drown. A flashback, Bucky says, and it’s not really okay, he doesn’t feel okay, but the heat and weight of Bucky’s body pressed against his, close and unyielding… he’s never had that, after a nightmare. He’s used to weathering them alone. But this is so much better, at the same time that it’s so, so much worse. 

Bucky presses a kiss to the back of Steve’s head, keeping his palm pressed against his heart in attempt to monitor where he is. “You know where you are? You all the way back with me?” His voice is soft. 

It takes a moment, but eventually Steve nods a little, face still turned away. “Yeah,” he says, throat feeling raw like he’s been screaming, lungs feeling thick like they used to after an asthma attack. “Yeah, we’re -- California. In Malibu. In -- in 2014.” 

Bucky can feel Steve’s heart is still beating quickly beneath his hand, but it seems to slow down a little, at least. “Good,” he agrees softly, not making any move to pull away, remembering how Steve had helped him through a panic attack of his own last weekend. “That’s right. Malibu, 2014, and you’re here with me. I’ve got you, soldier.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “You’re safe now.” He rests his cheek over Steve’s. 

He listens intently to the sound of Steve’s breathing -- still shaky but a little more even than before. He has questions, worries, but they’ll wait for now. They’ll wait for as long as it takes for Steve to recover from the flashback, from the panic. Steve hadn’t asked him questions after his own trip down memory lane, and he’s not about to put the guy through an interrogation. 

Steve thinks that those words, those actions, from anyone else… they would’ve made him feel angry. Helpless. He still feels that way, yes, but Bucky’s not patronizing, and he’s not annoyed. He’s just… here, and it’s that fact that finally seems to get through to him, finally seems to slow his shaky breathing, calm his racing heart. He does still feel foolish, and he definitely still feels shaky. 

He ends up letting out a weird, sudden burst of laughter that’s maybe tinged, the tiniest bit, with a sob. “See? Definitely a mess,” he says, trying to find the humor in it, because if he can’t… He wants to be around Bucky. He wants to be here, always, and he wants Bucky to want to comfort him, always. 

Bucky relaxes as Steve’s heart finally starts beating more normally, as the breaths that he’s taking grow less shaky. But the faint laugh-slash-sob that escapes him makes his chest tighten all over again and he turns his hand to thread his fingers through Steve’s when he covers Bucky’s hand with his own. “Nah, you’re just human,” he responds. “And it’s been a shitty week.” 

One of Steve’s hands comes up, trying to hook over Bucky’s on his chest, even if his fingers feel a little clumsy and numb. Even if he knows he should be stronger than this. He doesn’t want to be strong, just for a few more seconds. A few more heartbeats. It’s embarrassing, but it’s true. 

“I’m here,” Steve confirms, one more time. “Sorry I ruined your swim, though.” 

Bucky has no plans of going anywhere, now or anytime soon, and he presses a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek, wanting to look down at him and search his eyes and face for visual cues, but he also doesn’t want him to feel like he’s a bug under a microscope, so he refrains. “You didn’t ruin a thing. Pool’s not going anywhere. Plenty of time for swimmin’ later, Stevie.” He chews his lower lip for a moment. “You want to go inside? Get warmed up?” His skin still feels cool to the touch and he wonders if his blood pressure had dropped with the attack; and if it had, he wonders if that’s normal. 

Steve takes in and lets out a few more breaths, eyes still squeezed shut as Bucky’s voice, calm and warm, soothes him in a way nothing else really ever has. Maybe his ma’s, a long time ago, but not since then. Not that he can really, clearly remember in the past several years, awake or asleep. 

He lays there for a few more minutes, but eventually his body starts to protest being curled up on the hard pool deck, and Bucky can’t be feeling much better about it. And he’s cold, despite the warm afternoon air, starting to shiver. He nods, slowly starting to push up off the deck, head hanging as though he still won’t have to look Bucky in the face, even though he can’t avoid it forever and they both know it. “Yeah,” he says, feeling exhausted, but also feeling pulled by Bucky’s voice, wanting to respond to the warmth and comfort in it. “Yeah, inside.” He has to let go of Bucky’s hand to push to his feet, running a hand through his hair and feeling a bit hangdog, soaking wet as he heads for the patio door. “I’ll be okay.” 

Bucky reluctantly lets Steve pull away and sit up, then rise to his feet, pushing himself upwards as well. The look on his face breaks his heart, and he grabs the towel he’d brought outside and wraps it around Steve’s shoulders, rubbing his back through the material. “I know you will,” he replies without reservation, and it’s true. Steve will be okay, just like Bucky is after an attack -- but he knows it won’t happen without the exhaustion part in between. So he guides him into the house and leaves his side long enough to kick the air conditioning down a little since Steve’s already cold. 

Then he offers him a gentle smile, taking note of the fact that Steve’s still not looking at him but not calling him on it. “All right, let’s find you some clothes and crawl into one of the undoubtedly far too soft beds with a trillion-thread-count sheets,” he jokes, trying to let him know that he’s not weirded out by what had transpired. 

It does make Steve laugh a little, at the same time he’s grateful that Bucky just knows what to do, how to make it better, in as much as anyone or anything can. He knows it’s because Bucky’s felt this way, himself, and he wishes that weren’t true, but he also can’t belittle the fact that Bucky’s made it through things like this, to be here with Steve now and walk him through it. 

“I left all the other bags on the kitchen table,” he finally says, because there had been a couple bags of clothes for them each, but he had figured they could put those away later. He guesses now is as good a time as any, padding into the kitchen and rooting through the bags until he finds the things in his size, holding out the other bags for Bucky. 

Bucky follows him into the kitchen, keeping his hand on Steve’s back instinctively rather than out of any real conscious decision to do so. “Thanks.” He takes the bags from him, planning to go change as quickly as possible and spend the rest of the day -- or however long is needed -- with Steve under the covers. 

Steve finally blows out a breath, adding, “I really wanted to -- you looked so happy. And real handsome,” he adds, attention on the clothes in his hands. “I was hoping we’d be done with the shitty week. At least until next week.” 

“Hey.” Bucky’s own voice is quiet in response to Steve’s words. “I looked happy cause I was there with _you._ I’m still happy,” he says sincerely. “Even if I’m also a little worried about my best guy.” 

“I’m okay,” Steve insists, although he knows he isn’t acting it. He’s got to do better, pull himself together; he doesn’t know why this has shaken him up so much, except that maybe he’s never had someone to lose, someone he might hurt, quite like this before. Weathering things on his own is awful, but the idea of hurting Bucky is worse. 

But he’s here, now, and he’s in control. And so is Bucky, and he’s not leaving. 

Bucky gazes at Steve intently. He’s been through this enough to anticipate, at least somewhat, what the other man’s going to need after that. “Why don’t you go get changed, and I’ll do the same, and then I’ll come and find you, okay? Pick us out a room?” He gives Steve a soft, sweet smile. 

Getting changed and crawling into bed sounds really, really good. Steve nods, leaning in carefully to press a kiss to Bucky’s temple, before he retreats deeper into the house to find a room, figuring he’ll get changed there. 

He isn’t sure how many rooms there are, but the first one he finds has a window that faces east, not west, so it’s mostly in shadow, and there’s a big bed that will definitely fit them both. He peels off his sopping shorts, finding an attached bathroom where he can drape them over the side of the (enormous) tub. After that, it doesn’t take much time to pull on a fresh set of clothes -- the sleep pants and a t-shirt they’d bought as pajamas for him -- before he pushes the door of the room open again, scanning for Bucky. 

Bucky does his best to take his time changing, mostly because he feels like maybe Steve wants a few moments to collect himself, even if his own nerves feel like they’re hyper-focused on where the other man had gone. He tugs on a long-sleeved shirt he’d bought and a pair of comfortable sweatpants, then rakes his fingers through his wet hair, noting that his cheeks are a little flushed. He chalks it up to having been so sick just the day before, and probably to the fear that had shot through him when Steve had gone away for those few moments. Even though he’d known -- or was pretty sure anyway -- what was happening, knowing something intellectually and feeling it are two very different things. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge and grabbing a couple bottles of water out as well as a protein shake, figuring before too much longer, Steve’s going to need the calories. He heads down the hall toward where he’d thought he’d heard footsteps, peeking into a couple of empty office-type rooms before he sees Steve duck his head out of another on the right. Relief washes over him and he smiles, holding up the bottles in his right hand -- one water and the protein shake, the other bottle of water tucked between his left arm and his body.

“Just in case we don’t feel like getting up anytime soon,” he explains. 

There’s a distinct wave of relief that goes through Steve when he sees Bucky approaching, like there was maybe a chance that he would’ve taken the chance to leave, not stay. Steve knows that’s stupid, that Bucky wouldn’t do that to him -- or anyone -- but somehow, the relief is there all the same. 

Along with a warm, bubbling feeling of unmistakable _love_ , when he clearly comes prepared, and Steve’s smile is still a little tight and shaky at the edges, but it’s real. “You’re the best,” he murmurs, because despite the fact that he doesn’t tend to need a lot of sleep, he _doesn’t_ want to think about getting up anytime soon, and really does just want to sleep until he can forget all of this, impossible though that is. “The bed in here should be big enough for both of us,” he says, backing into the room as Bucky approaches, wanting him close and a part of this space as soon as possible. “If you want to get in, too,” he adds. Just to make sure. 

Bucky peeks into the room and notes the bed -- which is gigantic and possibly the biggest bed he’s ever seen that’s _not_ on TV or in a movie. “Yeah, looks great. I definitely want to get in.” He hands one of the bottles to Steve before rising up on his tiptoes and kissing his forehead softly in an attempt to reassure him that he’s not upset or planning to leave his side. “Come on.” He steps past him and into the room, setting the bottles down on the nightstand and then working to pull the blankets back. 

The kiss to his forehead is reassuring; something in the line of Steve’s shoulders relaxes, even as Bucky steps past him and into the room. Steve pulls the door shut most of the way, but not all of the way, in case Alpine wants to wander in here later. He’s never minded if she slept with them before, and he definitely doesn’t mind now. 

“Got a side preference?” Bucky glances over at Steve with raised eyebrows. It never mattered in his bed at home because it had been so small that it always took some maneuvering to fit both of them on it comfortably. They’d always made it work, though, even if it usually resulted in Bucky draped over Steve’s body like a blanket or vice versa. Which, now that he thinks about it, sounds _great._

Steve shakes his head at the question, just picking the side of the bed that Bucky’s not standing on and helping to pull everything back. “Not really.” Although there’s a part of him that does lament the sheer size of the bed, because Bucky’s bed had been dark and warm and comfortable, and if it had been small, it had just made it cozier. Steve had always liked sleeping in it, liked the way Bucky usually ended up on top of him or curled up against his stomach. In this bed, it feels like they could stretch out and not even touch -- and that’s not what Steve wants at all. “We can just… get in the middle?” he suggests, and goes to do exactly that, maybe hoping Bucky will take the hint and not stay all the way over on the other side. 

“It’s like you’re reading my mind, Stevie,” Bucky tells him with a grin, crawling onto the mattress and using his right arm to propel himself toward the center of the bed before he drops his head onto the massive mountain of pillows. “Come here.” He motions for Steve to move closer, because he definitely wants to be in physical contact with him, and he’s pretty sure they both need it, for that matter. He doesn’t really care which one of them does the holding, even if he feels like Steve might need it more than he does at this point. He’ll let Steve decide, though, because he just wants to help make him feel better again. Feel normal. 

“This is definitely a lot bigger than my bed. Feel like the entire Avengers team would be able to fit,” he jokes. 

“I feel like you’re not wrong, but that would still be really awkward,” Steve says, trying to let Bucky’s efforts at relaxing him, well, relax him as he shuffles over into the middle next to him, pulling the covers up with him. 

“Incredibly awkward,” Bucky agrees with a nod. “Besides, you’re the only Avenger I want in bed with me.” His cheeks grow warm with the admission even though he knows Steve already knows that. 

“You’re the only person I want in bed with me,” Steve echoes, because he means it, and Bucky deserves to hear it, after everything he’s done just in the last 20 minutes. Today had started out so much better, but now it’s starting to feel like a bit of a wash, even if Steve knows that one bad thing can’t undo all the good things. It just feels big and heavy, and beyond his control, and he’s never liked feeling like that. 

“Not sure what to do with all this room,” he admits. “I don’t care where you wanna be, I just… want you close.” Steve isn’t sure how he wants to arrange them, but he does know that he wants them to be as close as possible. And he is still cold, so he ends up tucking himself up a little into the middle, holding up an arm that Bucky can either crawl under or just drape around his waist. 

Bucky lets Steve rearrange himself, tucking the blankets close, and then he turns onto his side and scoots up closer to him, crawling beneath his arm but also draping his arm around Steve’s waist, too. It’s kind of perfect, really, because it’s more like they’re holding _each other_ than one of them being held and the other doing the holding. Give and take. A partnership. He presses a kiss against Steve’s collarbone. “This work?” he asks quietly, rubbing Steve’s back slow and gentle. 

When Bucky eels up close, Steve finally starts to relax a little more and sink into the mattress, as Bucky’s hand comes around his waist and his lips touch his collarbone. “Yeah,” he breathes, curling up tighter so he can press his nose into Bucky’s hair, like the scent of his shampoo -- admittedly a little harder to get at, under the pool water scent, but it’s still there -- can lull him to sleep and remind him of where and when they are. “Yeah. Thanks, Buck.” 

His fingers curl tightly into the shirt Bucky’s wearing, but now that he’s lying down and finally starting to warm up, and all the adrenaline has long since drained out of him, it doesn’t take much soothing at all for Steve to slip into sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky wakes up hours later, a little disoriented because of how dark the room still is. The clock on the bedside table tells him that he and Steve slept for _fourteen_ hours, which is startling. He blinks a few times against the darkness, peering momentarily at Steve and smiling a little at how peaceful he looks. He presses a soft kiss against his forehead, eyes adjusting to the darkness as he glances at the other nightstand, the one on Steve’s side of the bed. He can see that the bottles of water and the protein shake are both empty now, apparently drunk sometime in the middle of the night. He doesn’t remember waking up or feeling Steve move around, but apparently he’d been pretty tired, too. 

He yawns and lays there silently for a few minutes as Alpine walks atop his blanket-covered body and plops down on his shoulder, pressing her furry head against his neck and purring. Ready for breakfast, he thinks with amusement, reaching up carefully to pet her, then letting his arm curl around her as he sits up as slowly as he can, trying hard not to jostle Steve or wake him up. He kisses Alpine’s head and then carefully rolls off the huge mattress (seriously, who on earth needs a bed this big? It would fit the Hulk with room to spare). 

Then he makes his way out of the room and down the hall toward the bathroom. He sets Alpine down, uses the toilet and washes his hands before heading to the kitchen. He doubts Steve will sleep much longer; he’s known him long enough now to know him sleeping _this_ long is highly unusual, and he has a feeling that when he wakes up, Steve’s gonna be ravenously hungry. So he opens the fridge and starts pulling things out, planning to surprise him with the biggest breakfast that Bucky’s ever made in his life. 

By the time he’s done, there’s a huge stack of pancakes and French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, and, of course, breakfast’s most important beverage: coffee. 

Steve doesn’t sleep much longer; it isn’t Bucky getting up or out of bed that wakes him, but it is a combination of the smells floating from the kitchen and his decidedly empty stomach. When he’d woken up sometime near midnight, he’d ended up drinking the bottles on his side of the bed and curling back up to fall back asleep, barely actually registering having done any of it at all. Now, though, he’s decidedly more awake, and the time of day is decidedly later (earlier?), and Bucky isn’t here any longer. 

But it doesn’t really take much guesswork to determine where he might be. Steve slips out of bed, padding out the door and down the hallway toward the kitchen, only to find -- 

He stops in the doorway, blinking for a second, not sure if he’s still dreaming or not. Because there is _so much food_ and all of it smells amazing, and before he can even say anything, his stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl, because he feels like he could pretty much eat this all. “Did you…” he starts, but then sort of cuts himself off because who else could have made all of this? His mouth curls up into a smile, sheepish and loving and grateful all at once. “Buck, this looks amazing.” 

Bucky glances up from where he’s finishing up scooping the last of the hashbrowns onto a plate and smiles at the sight of Steve’s rumpled shirt, hair slightly messy from a good night’s sleep. “Good morning, Stevie,” he greets, eyes bright. “Hungry?” He knows he is because he’d heard the stomach growl. 

Bucky carries the plate of hashbrowns to the table and sets it down with the rest of the food before heading to the fridge to grab the milk and juice, setting them out as well. 

“Yeah,” Steve replies, even though he’s sure, especially from Bucky’s expression, that his stomach was audible all the way across the kitchen. 

“It occurred to me that I once said I’d make you dinner, and… well. Hadn’t gotten around to that yet, so… breakfast.” Plus, Bucky had just really wanted to do something special for Steve after the rough day he’d had yesterday. Something to show him that whatever it was that he’d flashed back to was firmly in the past, even if his mind didn’t always agree. Something to show him that Bucky’s not going anywhere voluntarily. 

Steve looks over the full spread again, and adds, “I think you’re more than off the hook for dinner, pal.” And he’s still standing there when Bucky comes up to him, offering him a soft smile before reaching up and tugging him down for a light, chaste kiss on the lips. 

Steve feels like it’s become a pattern, where Bucky kisses him and Steve chases it, desperate for a little more, needing to prove that he’s grateful and he knows exactly how lucky he is, to have Bucky right here, right now, with him. His fingers slide down Bucky’s side to tangle in the hem of his shirt, and he offers a kiss of his own that’s full of as much gratitude and love as he can manage, without actually getting them too distracted from the breakfast Bucky’s made. 

He’s still embarrassed and unhappy about what happened last night, but Bucky’s managed to make today feel like a new start, and that helps. It helps immensely, even more than the hours and hours of sleep he must have gotten. 

A soft moan escapes Bucky when Steve deepens the kiss, however momentarily, and he suddenly has a mental image of wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist right there in the kitchen, food be damned. 

Steve’s attention is definitely wrapped up in that sound Bucky makes, the way he wants to chase it with a hundred more kisses to hear it a hundred more times -- not to mention figure out every other little thing he can do to get that sound to come out, or sounds just like it. 

But not right now, not when Bucky just made all of this for them, and not when Bucky hasn’t actually invited him to do it. Steve wants this to go at a pace that’s comfortable for Bucky, not to mention that Steve has very little actual experience with intimacy. With most of the things he does, he charges right in; but with this, taking it slow seems better, and it’s not like it’s really a hardship. He’s still able to touch Bucky a hundred other ways and show him how much he means with more than just his mouth and hands. It feels good to try to build things on a basis other than the physical, like it makes this more real. More meaningful. 

But it doesn’t mean that Bucky isn’t hot as hell and Steve _doesn’t_ want to prove it to him. Saying that would definitely be a lie. 

It maybe takes a long time for him to pull back. 

Bucky feels a little dazed by the time the embrace ends “I still wanna fix you dinner,” he insists. It probably isn’t going to be today, but he’s quickly discovering that he likes doing things like this for Steve. Likes surprising him, making him happy. He wants to be the person that Steve can let his hair down around and just totally relax. The person Steve will allow to help take care of him when he needs it. And even if that’s not often, Bucky knows he does need it from time to time. He _is_ only human, even if he’s got some superpowers to boot. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down,” Steve admits. But as for the spread in front of them now -- “Hope you haven’t been up for too long,” he murmurs. 

“No, just a little while. We slept for a long time.” Way longer than Bucky usually sleeps. It was nice. Comforting. He’s finding he sleeps a hundred percent better when his arms are wrapped around Steve and vice versa. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, a little sheepishly. “I… that happens sometimes.” When he doesn’t get enough sleep for days or weeks on end, he tends to just crash. And, he realizes, that’s exactly what had happened up until two days ago, because if he’d slept at all in the Triskelion, it had definitely been catnaps at best. 

He reaches down to tangle his fingers with Bucky’s, giving a gentle tug. “C’mon. You get first dibs, for making all this. And,” he laughs softly, “you should probably take as much as you’re gonna want, so I don’t eat it all before you get seconds.” 

“Noted.” Bucky grins, pleased with Steve’s reaction -- both his words and his actions. He’s more than okay if Steve wants to kiss him some more, but he’s also fine with letting him eat before the food gets cold. He leans his forehead against Steve’s when he pulls back a little. “Adrenaline crash,” he says softly, nodding and pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he lets Steve tug him toward the table. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Can’t get something for nothing -- at least, not for forever.” He can push harder and longer than any normal human, but it still catches up to him in the end. He can mostly negate it by eating enough, but when he doesn’t -- and he hadn’t eaten much in the Triskelion, either, too amped up to even feel hunger -- it hits all the harder. At least his body had waited until he was someplace warm and safe before going under for the long haul, he supposes. 

Although it also makes him wonder if that’s what had happened, yesterday -- if whatever’s kept him from having flashbacks like that before was just… too worn out to do the same. He guesses there’s only one way to find out, and that’s to hopefully keep himself from getting that worn out again, even if he knows he might not really have control over that in the future. 

_Can’t get something for nothing._ Those words echo in Bucky’s head and he knows Steve is right because the universe has a way of keeping things at least somewhat in balance. He remembers his mom telling him and Becca about how moderation was the key to everything when they were younger, and he’s always tried to keep that in mind. But it’s different, with Steve, who has the capacity to keep going for long periods of time, and often _does_ so, be it for missions or otherwise, because he doesn’t let himself rest until he has to. 

“I don’t usually eat too much breakfast,” he admits ruefully, even as he picks up an empty plate and puts a couple pancakes on it, along with some bacon. Truth be told, he never really has much of an appetite and he’s lost a few pounds this week from being so sick. “One of the main side effects of the suppressants is lack of appetite.” He shrugs a shoulder, pouring some syrup onto the pancakes and sitting down in the closest chair. “Rest is all yours, soldier.” 

Steve watches Bucky with the tiniest pang of worry; he knows it’s Bucky’s choice -- and right, no matter what the law says -- to take suppressants, but it doesn’t mean he has to like the side effects. But he does his best to keep that worry to himself, limiting it to only the look on his face before he nods and picks up a plate for himself, and starts piling a little bit of everything on it. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m not gonna fight you over seconds,” he says, taking the chair across from Bucky’s and promptly stretching out his legs under the table to bump Bucky’s feet with his own, feeling like _not_ touching, at least in some little way, would be unbearable. “If you slept that long, too, you might be hungrier than you think.” 

Bucky definitely catches the worried look on Steve’s face at the mention of his suppressants. He supposes they both have a few struggles when it comes to taking care of themselves well. He nudges Steve’s foot with his own beneath the table, then rubs his ankle over Steve’s calf. “Might be,” he agrees, even if he doesn’t feel like he’s all that hungry. He is, however, severely under-caffeinated, so he reaches for his mug and takes a long drink before setting it back down once more. 

He takes a few bites of his pancakes, watching Steve momentarily. “How ya feeling this morning?” 

Steve is admittedly a little preoccupied with walking that fine line between eating like a polite human being and shoveling food into his face like a trash compactor. The touch of Bucky’s foot does help to ground him a little, keep him from putting all his attention solely on his food, eyes flicking up to see Bucky downing about a third of his coffee in one go, which isn’t surprising in the least, given what Steve’s seen in the few weeks they’ve been together. It’s somehow stupidly endearing. 

He finishes chewing the last few forkfulls of french toast before answering that question: “Better. I mean…” He’s not sure how to describe the way he feels, like there’s some part of him that’s still fragile, and definitely like he wishes he could take back what happened yesterday. Steve tries not to live with regrets like that, tries to accept his own mistakes and learn from them, but this wasn’t a mistake, exactly. It’s a thing that happened, and he wishes it hadn’t. 

But he can’t pretend it didn’t, either. “Still not sure what happened. I mean -- why, really. It’s not usually like that,” he finally says, slowing down with the fork-to-mouth action. He wants to gloss over it, and might, if Bucky lets him. But he will try not to, if Bucky won’t. “I think it won’t happen again, now that I’ve had some sleep.” 

Bucky knows Steve’s a little uncomfortable with the conversation, but he also feels like it’s too important not to talk about, at least a little. “It was like that day back at my place, when I was trying to answer Natasha’s questions. Wasn’t it? Your head just… took you back somewhere else?” There’s no judgement in his voice, and the expression on his face is serious but understanding. He rubs his ankle against Steve’s again, hoping the light contact will help him. 

He hasn’t got a clue where Steve had gone then, but he does remember him saying that Bucky couldn’t be there. And he’d been clearly afraid. “Do you know where you went?”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms quietly, after a moment -- yes, it was like that day, he knows that much. 

And yes, he knows where he thought he was, and just thinking about it is enough to turn his stomach a little, making him pause and put down the fork. He _doesn’t_ want to talk about this and isn’t sure how much he should say. There are fewer people than the fingers on his two hands that know exactly what happened to him on that plane. The reports are redacted, the official story intentionally vague. There are actually a couple of researchers -- historians -- who have called him for clarification, for confirmation of this theory or that, but he’s never actually called them back. 

But he’d almost hurt Bucky, _could have_ hurt Bucky, and he owes it to him to tell him something. Steve had said before that Bucky could ask anything about his past. And he’d said he would tell him. “You probably know the story,” he starts, because, God help him, he’s going with the vague version, because he needs just that little bit of a buffer -- or at least, he needs to try for it. “I crashed a plane into the Arctic. In 1945.” 

Bucky keeps his eyes on him, not wanting to send Steve into another attack, but knowing he probably needs to talk about it, at least a little. His heart stutters in his chest at the mention of the plane crash, though. Because yes, that’s a part he does remember learning, remembers wondering what might have happened if he _hadn’t_ crashed that plane. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d be seeing the personal side of that, that he’d get to know the man who’d acted so damned courageously to save all those lives even though it had ended his own. 

Or so everyone had thought. 

He draws in a slow breath, giving a short nod. “Yeah,” he says quietly. He’d missed the headlines about them finding Steve there, about _dethawing_ him. It takes him a moment, and then understanding dawns on him, horror washing over him. “It was the water. That’s what caused your flashback.” Because Steve had crashed that plane into the fucking ocean. And he hadn’t frozen instantly. Bucky’s not sure how or why he suddenly realizes that, but it all clicks into place. “You thought you were back there, didn’t you?” 

Steve’s jaw works a little, but -- he’s not surprised. Bucky’s smart. Hell, most people are, and most people could figure it out with enough information and incentive. It’s why there are historians calling him for details, even when there is an official story. “Yeah,” he says, very interested in his plate, even with his fork set down on the table. “I mean -- it’s not like water bothers me all the time. I can take showers just fine.” He finally looks up, an expression on his face that’s almost wry. “But I guess I’ve never gotten in a pool like that --” He shrugs. “I didn’t think it would happen.” Obviously, but he still feels the need to say that. 

And, “I didn’t want you there with me, if that’s where I was. I guess. It made sense to me at the time.” 

Bucky’s expression is soft as he gazes at him. “No, it… makes sense. Showering is different. You’re not being submerged into water,” he tells him. He’s quiet for a moment and then he reaches across the table and covers Steve’s hand with his own. “Hell, believe me, I get it, Steve. I rarely ever know one’s coming until it hits. They just happen sometimes.” He squeezes Steve’s hand lightly. “Thank you. For sharing with me. I always want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything. Day or night. I’m here.” He rubs his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. 

For all that Steve’s still embarrassed, knowing that Bucky gets it helps. It doesn’t make it better, and it doesn’t make him happy that Bucky understands because of personal experience, but it helps. Steve lets out a slow breath, shoulders loosening as Bucky’s fingers reach for his own. “I said you could ask me anything, and I meant it,” he says, offering Bucky a small smile, because he’d certainly done nothing _wrong_ by asking. 

“It works both ways. For the record. If there’s anything you want to know, I’m an open book. For you,” Bucky says softly. 

Even so, “It’s not something -- In the future -- I mean, today. These days,” he starts, stumbling a little, because it’s not _the future_ for people like Bucky, obviously, “people talk about things. They want other people to talk about things. It’s not how things used to be. I kinda… still get stuck in how it used to be.” He grew up knowing that you didn’t tell people about that kind of thing. It was whispered behind backs, when a soldier came home and wasn’t right, and everyone knew it but everyone ignored it outside of the gossip. He doesn’t know if it’s better to talk about it or not, but it’s not his first instinct, and he doesn’t want Bucky to think that it’s because he doesn’t trust Bucky. It’s just the way he is, and that’s different. 

Bucky had fallen silent as Steve tripped over his words but picked back up and kept going -- which is one of the things that he loves about Steve “Yeah, that makes sense. I can’t imagine how weird so much of the world must seem to you because of how different everything is from when you were growing up.” And sure, there are plenty of things that are still the same, but the differences outweigh those by a mile. Technology alone has grown by leaps and bounds. 

“And you know… if there’s ever stuff that doesn’t make sense or whatever… I’m happy to try and help. And if I don’t know about it, we’ll figure it out together.” Bucky tightens his fingers around Steve's momentarily. “But… I won’t make you talk about anything you genuinely don’t wanna talk about either. Just know that if you ever _want_ to talk, you can. I’ll listen. Even if I can’t do anything but listen, I can do that.” 

He chews his lower lip momentarily. “Steve? Sometimes talking about things does help. But there’s no pressure. Not from me. Okay?” 

Steve lets out a breath, and, “I’ve got to admit, I’d rather talk to you than somebody I only see for an hour once a week.” SHIELD -- HYDRA? -- had suggested he try therapy, but that’s all it had been: a suggestion. Not a mandate. And he’d tried it. About twice. And decided it wasn’t something he ever wanted to try again.

But talking to Bucky is different. Bucky’s not trying to fix him, or study him, or evaluate him, or whatever the hell else anyone from SHIELD was supposed to do. He’s asking because he cares, and he’s asking because it’s important for the two of them, together, not because it might make Steve do one thing over a different thing on a mission. Steve knows that much for sure. 

“Me, too,” Bucky confesses. “I still see a therapist, but… it’s definitely not my favorite thing in the world by far.” He presses his lips together. “And there’s some stuff I haven’t talked with her about. A lot of stuff, actually. It’s hard to build trust with someone you only see once a week.” He nods, acknowledging Steve’s statement because he’s not wrong. His first few sessions _had_ been mandated by the Army. But he’d kept going back because he hadn’t been willing to unload anything on Becca -- his protective big brother instincts are far too strong for that. And he hadn’t been about to try talking to _Brock_ and he’s glad he hadn’t, now. 

“Some things, a guy really doesn’t want to talk about,” Steve admits. Talking about some things isn’t easy, or comfortable, and he’s not sure he’ll ever just want to volunteer certain information. But he can try -- and he can try to answer questions honestly, when they come. “But I can try. And -- I can try not to push you, too. You have a right to your own privacy, I do believe that. But if talking helps, and you need to talk to me, then I’m here. I promise.” 

The stuff Bucky hasn’t shared with his therapist is stuff he’s not ready to talk about with anyone just yet. So he nods quickly at Steve’s words, squeezing his hand again. “I think that’s good. As long as we know we can talk if we need to, but we don’t have to if we’re not ready or just don’t want to.” He’s very focused on trying to keep everything between them as open and healthy as possible. 

Steve nods; he’s not a therapist and can’t pretend to be, but he can guess, based on how he feels, that sometimes you really don’t want a neutral third party. Sometimes you want a friend. And that, he can be -- and more. “Well, I promise not to get too twisted up if you don’t want to talk about something,” he says, a wry smile working its way onto his lips. “But I will always listen. And I will try to understand, even if it involves words like ‘twerking’ or ‘tweeting.’” 

Okay, now he’s just being dumb, because he actually knows what those two words mean, and that’s not the point, anyway. He gets that things might be a little different, between them -- that they are from two different times, almost two different worlds, if you look at it in extremes. But that doesn’t mean they can’t understand each other or be there for each other. Or love each other better than anyone else can. That last one, he definitely believes. 

Bucky laughed at that. “I love you, but I’m not going to twerk for you to show you what it is, Steve.” Because dancing isn’t in his skill set to begin with and he’s pretty sure if he _tried_ , it would be the most humiliating thing he’s ever done. “There’s a line and that’s definitely it.” He’s grinning, though. 

“Are you sure? It’d basically be like a public service,” Steve teases, and things feel much, much better now. There’s still some uneasiness from last night, but he feels better, more like he can put it behind him -- like they can put it behind _them_ \-- without it coming back to bite him in the ass. Maybe that’s what talking to someone is supposed to do. 

“More like a public service _announcement_ : don’t try this, kids.” Bucky chuckles. He feels a break in the tension, too, and with any luck, it’s helped Steve feel better, at least a little. He _seems_ more relaxed. 

“But if I get weird and defensive, it’s probably not personal,” Steve adds, reaching over with his other hand to pick up his fork, so he can keep his fingers wrapped up with Bucky’s. 

“That’s okay,” Bucky says. “I don’t really take most things personally.” Especially if he knows for sure that whatever the defensiveness is, isn’t about him at all. And he’s not the kind of guy to assume everything is about him by any means. The world’s too big for that. And he knows that Steve’s lived through a lot of shit on his own. 

He watches as Steve picks his fork up again. “Food okay?” He hasn’t cooked for anyone else in a long time. 

Steve nods, spearing several more squares of french toast. “It’s great. Seriously. I don’t usually go to the trouble of making all this stuff, but I like it.” He cleans those pieces off his fork, and then spears a more reasonable single square, holding it out across the table for Bucky to try. 

“Good. I’m glad it tastes good. Haven’t really cooked for anyone in a long time.” Bucky smiles softly, pausing when Steve offers him a bite off his fork. He leans forward and accepts the food, chewing slowly and nodding. “Not bad.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Maybe we can cook _together_ sometime.” 

“I guess it’s just like riding a bike,” Steve muses, watching Bucky chew. And as far as Bucky suggesting doing it together sometime, well -- “Yeah,” he says immediately, grinning across the table. “Yeah, I’d like that. I mean, especially here. The kitchen is big enough to probably hold my entire first apartment in it. We can’t get in each other’s way here.” 

Even if, in a way, cooking in a smaller kitchen also has its appeal. Or maybe that’s just Steve, who feels like being even three feet away from Bucky is suddenly too much. But, he tells himself, that’s just because they spent an entire week apart, against their will. He’s being a little ridiculous. 

But while he eventually lets go of Bucky’s hand so they can both eat a little easier, his legs stay stretched out under the table, feet tangled with Bucky’s, and that seems like enough to keep the itching under Steve’s skin calm. He does end up demolishing pretty much everything Bucky made, although he maybe prods the other to take a few more things for himself, if he can manage it. 

They finish up the meal with comfortable camaraderie and clean up together like they’ve done this their entire lives. They load up the big, shiny dishwasher together, and Steve’s wiping down the counters when he glances over and asks, “So, should we try to see your sister today, do you think?” 

He isn’t sure how long they’ll be here, so it seems better to do that sooner rather than later. 

At the mention of his sister, Bucky’s eyes light up. “Yeah, that’d be great. It’s a few hours north. Do you think Mr. Stark would be okay with us taking one of his cars that far?” He doubts the other man would care, and he assumes he would have given them specific instructions if he’d been worried about it. 

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t see why he’d care. I’d say he’d complain whichever one we picked got the worst gas mileage, but I actually think they’re all electric.” The one yesterday had been, anyway. 

But that’s beside the point. “A few hours isn’t bad at all. I just want to take a shower, get cleaned up a little, and we can head out whenever.” 

“Okay, good.” Bucky smiles a little at that. “I should take a shower, too.” He’s tempted to tease Steve about showering together to save water, but it feels weird to segue from that to talking about his sister as Steve asks, “Do you want to give her a call first?” 

“I know where she lives. I was kinda thinking… maybe we could just surprise her?” Bucky suggests. Because Becca definitely won’t have a clue they’re coming. And he wants to see the look on her face when she opens the door and spots them on her doorstep. “Is that okay?”

Bucky definitely knows his sister best, and it’s definitely his call. Steve raises an eyebrow, but he’s grinning a little, trying to at least picture how that scenario might go. “As long as you don’t think it’s going to give her a heart attack,” he says, bumping Bucky’s shoulder gently. “I feel like that would make a really bad first impression, is all.” 

But otherwise? Sure. It’ll be one hell of a surprise. 

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky promises with a grin. 

“I’m pretty sure we can find more than one shower in here,” Steve adds, glancing back toward the bedroom where they’d spent the night. “If you want to use the one in there, I can find another one.” 

Bucky, by now, feels oddly giddy and he can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist in a spontaneous hug. “I’ll find another one. You can use the one in our room.” He presses a kiss to his cheek. 

Steve’s arms slide automatically around Bucky’s middle, loose but sure, as he laughs a little. Things are definitely looking up, with Bucky looking like that and things feeling much lighter. 

“Meet you back here when we’re done?” Bucky finally pulls away to look at Steve, cheeks flushed. 

“Yessir,” Steve quips -- and then leans in to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips before sliding away, knowing that if he doesn’t turn and walk into the bedroom now, he’ll go in for another kiss, and another, and another after that. “Then you get to pick the car.” 

So he retreats into the bedroom, and if he glances back a few times on the way, just to catch a glimpse of Bucky, well, he hopes he can’t really be blamed. It’s much easier to concentrate on how happy Bucky looks, rather than on the nerves fluttering in Steve’s stomach. He knows Bucky has said his sister will love him, but he can’t help but be a little nervous, all the same. She sounds like an amazing person, but she also sounds like her opinion will matter a lot to Bucky, and Steve wants to make a good first impression. 

So, once he’s showered, he does his best to rake his hair into something resembling neat (which is harder than it used to be, with the modern cut SHIELD gave him -- to help him fit in, they said) and puts on the nicest pair of jeans they bought (because jeans are nice now, he’s trying to remember that) and a clean t-shirt. He picks up a blue buttoned shirt to go over it, suddenly not sure if that’s too formal or not formal enough. Bucky will probably be wearing long sleeves, if his past habits are anything to go by… so Steve opts for the shirt, but rolls the cuffs up a bit as a compromise between his idea of fashion and modern standards. 

Then he emerges from the bedroom to see whether Bucky’s finished yet. 

Bucky’s back in the kitchen already, tablet in front of him on the table and Alpine curled up on his lap asleep as he pets her absently. He’s dressed in a long-sleeved red Henley and a pair of blue jeans, hair still damp from his shower. 

He’s also set to leave, but when he’d finished Steve wasn’t out yet, so he decided to check on ORC, since he hasn’t for a couple days. He’d just wanted to peek and see if anything new is going on. 

As it turns out, there’s a lot. He’s now engrossed in a video -- live feed from Springfield, Illinois, outside the governor’s mansion. There’s a huge crowd gathered, carrying signs and shouting. 

“Omega rights are human rights!” 

“Free Captain America!” 

He’s so absorbed in what he’s seeing that he doesn’t even hear Steve approaching. “Wow,” he whispers, a little stunned by the sheer size of the crowd. 

As he gets closer to the kitchen, Steve starts to hear the tinny sound of audio coming through small speakers. Then he starts to be able to make it out, although he’s still not sure what he’s listening to, or why, until he finally steps up behind Bucky, making sure to make enough noise so that the other will (hopefully) notice his approach as he puts one hand on Bucky’s shoulder and leans in a bit closer. “What are you -- where is that?” 

Bucky glances up when he feels the hand on his shoulder and he immediately hands him the tablet so he can get a better look. “It’s an ORC protest in Illinois going on right now. And it sounds like there’s a bunch of others in the works for today and the rest of the week, all over the country.” He raises his eyebrows, watching Steve’s face for his reaction. 

Steve frowns down at the tablet Bucky’s handed him, watching the shaky video for a moment and reading the comments that keep popping up below the video, as more and more people see it for themselves. “It sounds like someone doesn’t want anyone to know I’m not in custody anymore,” he says quietly, and it’s clear that he means _HYDRA_. Which makes sense, on the one hand, but on the other… 

The longer people think he’s in captivity, the longer things like this will go on. And while he’s weirdly touched, and proud to be a sticking point, he also knows that protests can go south quickly, and people can get hurt. 

“Probably afraid of how their supporters might react,” Bucky says, more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. He knows there are plenty of people out there who would be more than happy to keep Steve locked up for his “deception” for the rest of his life. But it’s also heartening to see people coming together to protest on his behalf. But like Steve, he knows things could go pear-shaped quickly and he doesn’t want to see anyone get hurt or killed, either. 

“I should talk to Tony,” Steve says, handing the tablet back to Bucky. “See how things are in New York. I don’t know if I should make some kind of statement.” 

Steve, of course, is not the kind of person who’s happy to go on pretending he’s a prisoner when he’s not. But -- he glances at Bucky. He knows they’re lying low for a reason, and he doesn’t want to put Bucky in unnecessary danger, either, and he also doesn’t want to upend any plans the Avengers might have, which could definitely be ruined by an untimely public message from Captain America. 

“Yeah. Probably,” Bucky agrees quietly, nodding. “You can give him a call if you want. We can go when you’re done.” He rises to his feet, Alpine in his arms. “It’ll be good to know what’s going on back home.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s mouth, soft and light. 

Steve nods, handing the tablet back to Bucky. “Let me see what the situation is. I’ll be right back.” 

He heads for the patio, though he leaves the door open just a bit because he’s not actually trying to hide any of this conversation from Bucky if he wants to listen in on half of it. Steve’s just trying to give Bucky some space to keep watching the feed on the tablet if that’s what he prefers. 

Bucky doesn’t think twice about Steve heading outside to make the call. He knows Steve will fill him in. This part has a lot more to do with Steve and the Avengers than him anyway, and it’s not like _Bucky_ is an Avenger. He goes back to watching the video, then reading over some of the discussions happening on the forum, chewing his lower lip as he scans over them. Most commenters are largely supportive of Steve, but a handful seem to be skeptical, wondering why they should care or help when he’s _not_ an omega anymore, and those are the ones he feels frustrated with. 

He can’t stop himself from posting one comment in response: “Isn’t our entire goal to achieve equality? What difference does it make if he’s no longer an omega if they’re treating him like one?” 

It’s not a long call, either way, and when Steve pulls the phone away from his ear to pocket it after ending the call, he slips right back inside, face calm but serious. 

Bucky hears Steve coming up behind him and he logs off his account and turns to face him. Once Steve’s got his attention, he says, “Nothing’s escalated too badly yet back home. But there have been a few protests in New York, too. SHIELD -- or HYDRA, or whoever -- isn’t saying anything, and the Avengers are busy digging up everything they can before anyone knows they’re inside HYDRA’s servers, so they can plan an attack. Tony says to maintain a low profile out here.” 

But there is one thing he doesn’t like, that isn’t sitting well with him: “Natasha still hasn’t checked in, though.” And he’s worried about her. 

Bucky nods, listening. Worry flickers over his face at the last bit, too. “I don’t like the sound of that.” 

“Me, either,” Steve says quietly. “I know she can handle herself, and she’s used to going deep undercover. But this just gives me a bad feeling.” He wishes he were there to do something, because even though he doesn’t know what he could do, he definitely prefers to act, rather than sit around waiting. 

But, technically, they’re not going to sit around today. He takes a deep breath, and his expression softens as he lets it out. “It sounds like there’s still nothing we can do from here. So let’s make the most of it and go see your sister?” 

***

The drive from Malibu to Stanford is nearly five and a half hours, but Bucky doesn’t mind. Even though they spend most of the ride lost in thought and comfortable silence, his fingers are intertwined with Steve’s. He knows Steve’s worried about Natasha, and though he doesn’t know her nearly as well, so is Bucky. He knows exactly the kind of shit these people are capable of and if she’s being held against her will, it’s hard telling what they’re doing to her. He hopes like hell she’s lying low, like Steve said. That she’s just deep undercover. But it doesn’t stop his stomach from being in lots of tiny knots. 

He’d briefly considered bringing Alpine along with them but dismissed it because if she ended up scratching Tony’s fancy car seats or interior, well. Bucky doesn’t want to be responsible for any possible damage. 

It’s not a bad drive at all, once they get going, and even though most of it is spent in silence, it’s comfortable in a way that Steve has missed. It’s been a long, long time since he could spend time in silence with someone else like this, and it makes him feel relaxed, the fingers of his right hand tangled in Bucky’s left, despite the worry over Natasha still roiling in his gut. 

They arrive at Stanford’s campus a little after two in the afternoon, and Bucky gives Steve directions to Becca’s apartment building, explaining that he’d actually helped her move in a couple years ago when he’d been on leave from the Army. He’s a little surprised by how well he remembers how to go straight to it considering everything that’s happened since then and he hasn’t been there more than the once. “She doesn’t have roommates, even though it would be cheaper,” he explains as they park the car outside the building. “She’s always been kinda introverted.” He’s actually able to squeeze Steve’s hand lightly with his own, though it’s nowhere near as good a grip as when it’s his right hand holding Steve’s left. 

“Living alone can definitely have its benefits,” Steve says, as they pull up to Becca’s building and park. He gives Bucky’s hand a soft squeeze back before reluctantly pulling his fingers free so they can both climb out of the car. “I haven’t actually done it much, myself.” And it’s not really for him, he’s learned -- or, well. It’s not really the way he’d wanted to re-acclimate to the world, but he hadn’t had a choice. Until now. And now… living on top of Bucky has an awful lot of appeal. But that’s definitely something for him to bring up later, and not right now. Just because they’ve been spending a lot of time together, and just because they’ve both agreed that they want that to continue… if Bucky wants some space, before they take the next step, Steve will give it to him. 

Right now, though, he crosses around the front of the car, stepping up close to Bucky and saying, “I’ll follow your lead.” He isn’t sure how Bucky wants to introduce him or their relationship, so he figures he won’t assume anything. 

Bucky’s leaning back against the side of the car as Steve approaches, and when he’s close enough, he reaches up with his right hand and cups his face for a moment, then rises up on his tiptoes to kiss his lips. “Scale of one to ten… how nervous are you right now?” he asks quietly. 

He knows if their situations were reversed, _he’d_ be pretty nervous, but he always has a low-level of anxiety flowing through his veins anyway. He’s pretty sure that Steve’s a little worried that Becca won’t like him or won’t approve, but Bucky knows that’s not going to be the case. 

Not to say Steve won’t end up on the receiving end of a shovel talk, because even though she’s younger, Becca’s protective of him. But he’s pretty damned sure that neither of them needs to worry about Steve hurting him, because he’s _Steve._ He feels safe and secure with Steve in a way he’s never felt before, but he also feels stronger than he has before, which is an interesting change. 

Steve leans into the kiss easily, laughing softly at the question. “Oh, is ten the highest I can go?” But, truthfully, “Maybe about a seven. Eight.” He _is_ nervous, because he wants to make a good first impression. He wants Becca to like him, and there’s a part of him that worries that, even given Bucky’s reassurances, they won’t be able to predict how she’ll react. 

But he does trust Bucky, and he believes him when he says Steve will go over well with Becca. So he does his best to relax -- or to at least appear relaxed, which is fortunately something that his experiences as Captain America have afforded him. He still wears his heart on his sleeve more often than not, but he can definitely project calm and confident when he has to. 

He maybe leans in for one more kiss, though -- why break with tradition? -- before he pulls back and smiles at Bucky. “Lead on?” 

Bucky makes a quiet, sympathetic noise when Steve admits he’s at around an eight as far as nerves go. So he strokes Steve’s cheek lightly with his thumb in an attempt to reassure him physically, then lets his hand drop to Steve’s, threading their fingers together and tugging him toward the entrance of the building when he’s told to lead on. 

Steve leans into that brief touch, and it helps when Bucky slides their hands together and keeps them that way, leading him into the building. “She’s on the third floor, and unless they did some major renovations, the elevator doesn’t work,” Bucky says. Third floor isn’t a big deal for either of them, but he figures it might require an explanation as they bypass the elevator a moment later -- which, sure enough, still has a large sign that says _Out of Order_. 

Bucky realizes there’s a chance that Becca won’t be home -- he knows she’s not in class because he’s got her schedule memorized, and he knows she’s not scheduled to work at the library until that evening unless that’s changed, but she’s also a twenty-five-year-old woman who could quite conceivably be elsewhere. He hopes she’s not, though. He leads Steve up the staircase and right up to her door, heart beating quickly in anticipation. He hasn’t seen her in months now, aside from their twice-a-week Skype chats. Even that’s not really the same thing. He hasn’t told her about Steve yet at all, though he may have dropped a couple of subtle hints over the last few weeks that there’s someone he’s taken an interest in. Which is putting it lightly. 

Today’s a halfway decent day so he’s able to lift his left arm enough to knock lightly on the door even though it leaves his knuckles and fingers tingling with unpleasant sensation. 

Steve stands half a step behind Bucky as the other raises his hand to knock, knowing that he’ll still be easy to spot but wanting Bucky to be the first person Becca sees when she answers the door. It just makes sense. 

And when she does -- because she is home -- her eyes do go right to Bucky. But only for a split second, before they slide to the person behind him, and her expression was already starting to go a little pleasantly surprised, but now it’s just plain surprised as her eyes widen and her gaze snaps right back to Bucky. Then she steps back a little, opening the door a little wider and saying, “Okay, Bucky you owe me an immediate explanation as to why you’re on the wrong coast with a guy who’s supposed to be in federal custody.” 

But the thing is, despite the words, Steve can see something in her face that’s almost… amused? And the tone of her voice might be accusing, but it’s in a familiar, almost teasing way, like maybe what he expects from siblings? He’s never had one, of course, so he doesn’t know for sure, but he is good at reading people, and Becca doesn’t seem mad. Just like she wants to know exactly what’s going on, but that she’s already assessed it as something that she’s going to be in on, and not something that needs to be reported. 

So, that seems good. 

Her reaction is pretty much exactly what Bucky’s been picturing it would be. Pleasantly surprised and then _really_ surprised as she registers Steve’s presence, followed by orders to fill her in. And she may sound teasing, and part of her _is_ , but he knows his sister well enough to know she also means it. She expects answers. And he has no problem with that. He steps into the doorway, reaching out to pull her into a hug which does mean letting go of Steve’s hand briefly. 

“Good to see you, too, Becca,” he says lightly, letting out a shuddering breath. “And this is my better half, by the way. Steve Rogers.” He pulls back to look at her and gives her his best, most charming grin even as her eyes go wide again momentarily before flickering to Steve and then back to him. Then her eyebrows rise. 

“Come in,” she responds, stepping farther aside and offering Steve a genuine smile. “Don’t think anyone else is home right now, but best not to be seen just in case I’m wrong.” 

Seeing Bucky try to charm his sister is… adorable, Steve thinks, although he’s not sure how Bucky would take that kind of compliment (possibly not well), so it’s good that he’s probably never going to say it out loud. Hearing Bucky call him his _better half_ , well… that’s something else entirely, and Steve isn’t sure quite what he feels, but whatever it is, it’s certainly good, even if he thinks it’s quite possibly more accurate the other way around. Now probably isn’t the time to argue that, though, as he steps into the apartment behind Bucky so Becca can close the door. 

Once she has, though, he does hold out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, and there’s no Captain America voice here, just genuine Steve Rogers. “I’ve heard a lot about you. All of it good.” And all of it, he thinks, true, as she smiles at him, clearly still surprised but not about to call the police or the feds or anything, as she does take his hand for a moment.

“I’ve heard about you, but definitely _not_ all of it,” Becca says, glancing between Steve and Bucky. “And it seems like the news probably hasn’t, either…?” 

Because, as she’d mentioned, Captain America is supposedly still in federal custody. Someone obviously slipped up there, and she’s smart enough to know it’s maybe less of a slip and more of a cover-up. 

“Can’t always believe what you see on the news,” Bucky tells her, with a hint of a smirk on his face. He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “It’s a very long story.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “And I’ll fill you in on it, but… I really need to go to the bathroom,” he jokes, letting her go and heading down the hall and leaving the two of them alone for a minute. 

Becca shakes her head as her brother wanders off, then shifts her attention to Steve. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve got water, tea, and coffee.” Because caffeine addiction is definitely a thing that she and Bucky have in common. 

Steve isn’t sure whether Bucky leaving them alone together is intentional or not, but it doesn’t much matter. Becca seems like everything Bucky had said: smart, kind, and what’s more, definitely like her brother. It doesn’t take Steve long to decide, “Coffee would be great.” Bucky might want some when he comes back, and it’s more of a placebo effect for Steve at this point, but he does genuinely like the taste. 

He lets Becca lead the way, staying out of her way but ready to help if she needs it. “I can at least tell you that the people who had me don’t want anyone to know they don’t anymore, or it _would_ have been all over the news a couple days ago,” he offers, because he feels like he should give her something to go off of. 

The look she gives him is shrewd, but she simply nods. “Already what I was thinking,” she says, “but I thought the ‘people’ who had you were the government?” 

“That’s part of the long story,” Steve says with a sigh and a helpless smile, “but suffice to say, they are, technically, but they really shouldn’t be.” He knows that’s not the greatest explanation, but, “It’s probably better if Bucky starts at the beginning -- I don’t know what you know, but I met him before any of this became an issue.” 

“I don’t know a lot,” Becca admits, pouring all three of them cups of coffee and handing one to Steve. “I have sugar and creamer, too, if you want.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then picks up her own mug, loading it down with as much sugar as Bucky usually uses and taking a drink. 

“I’m good, thanks,” Steve says with a smile, because he’s gotten used to drinking coffee without anything to adjust it with, and inhales the aroma for a moment before taking a sip as Becca goes on. 

“He did tell me there was someone new in his life, but he didn’t say who and didn’t give me any real details even though I tried to pry them out of him. It’s hard to do over video calls. Apparently, he doesn’t take my threats seriously if we’re not in the same city.” There’s an amused smile on her face now. 

Steve can’t help but smile a little more when he hears that Bucky wouldn’t give any information up; he wonders how much of that would have been normal and how much of that is because everything about their situation seems _ab_ normal, but either way, he’s not overly surprised. 

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see that look on your face when I introduced you two for the first time,” Bucky informs his sister with a grin as he steps into the room and makes a beeline for the other mug of coffee. He shoots a wink at Steve and leans against the counter. “And it was worth the wait.” 

“I’m not saying your brother is awful, because he’s not,” Steve says, maybe shuffling the tiniest bit closer to Bucky, almost subconsciously, “but he sure is something.” 

Becca’s answering smirk seems like agreement enough, either way. Steve already likes her -- knew he would, really.

Bucky leans into Steve’s presence at his side instinctively even as he keeps his hands wrapped around his mug and takes a drink of the coffee, making a face before setting it down and adding as much sugar as Becca had to her own, stirring it with a spoon and then taking a sip. Much better. 

Steve can’t help the way he grins a little as Bucky dumps his usual amount of sugar into his coffee; and he definitely didn’t miss that that seems to be a family trait, too. And while some of the tension drains out of him, it’s still there, because they haven’t explained everything to her, and he knows they should. Some of it might change her mind, yet, although he hopes not. 

“I will do everything I can to keep him safe,” Steve adds, glancing at Bucky, expression fond but serious. “I don’t want him -- or any of your family -- to suffer because of his association with me. Not if I can help it, with whatever’s going to happen.” He glances back at Becca. “Because something’s going to happen. And soon, I think. With those ‘people’ I mentioned.” 

Becca ushers them over to the kitchen table so that they can sit down and talk there. Steve settles down at the table and lets Bucky do most of the talking, but that isn’t to say he doesn’t tell his parts of the story or leave Bucky to explain the more difficult or complicated things without backup. 

As Bucky starts to explain what’s been going on the last couple of weeks, he watches his sister’s face grow more serious, then flat-out _worried_ , which isn’t unexpected, but… he still doesn’t like to worry her. He wants her to focus on her studies because he knows with certainty that one day, she’s going to be one hell of a lawyer, and he _wants_ that for her. He also glosses over some of the details involving Brock -- because she already knows he’d broken up with him months ago. Just not the details about _why_. 

“And so… that’s how we wound up in Malibu,” he finishes, taking a drink of his coffee, his foot brushing up against Steve’s beneath the table. 

Becca’s been mostly quiet through all of it, asking questions when she needs clarification but mostly just taking it all in, reserving judgement, though her expression stays serious, even as Bucky leans back a little and his foot touches Steve’s, and Steve can’t hide the tiny smile at the subtle touch. “I don’t know that we’ll be here long,” Steve adds, “but as of this morning, they’re not ready to do anything yet back in New York, so it’ll probably be a few more days. And I wanted to meet you in person,” he adds, “because -- well, like you said. It’s not the same, over video chat, and it didn’t seem like a very good way to make a first impression. Current circumstances notwithstanding.” 

It’s then that Becca’s expression lightens a little, and she tilts her head, as if considering. “I’m just curious how long Bucky would’ve let it go, if you hadn’t _needed_ to get out of town,” she says, with that pointed tone that says she’s both teasing and serious. 

Bucky gives a slight shrug at the question, because he has zero intention of answering it. He’d had a lot of reasons not to mention Steve’s name, even to Becca, for a while and he knows he’d probably make the same choice again given the choice. 

Steve can’t help but laugh just a little. “Maybe it’s better for all of us that we never find out. Or, at least, better for Bucky.” He nudges Bucky’s foot right back with his own and hides his smile in another sip. 

Becca does look back at Steve now, though. “This is serious, though. There _isn’t_ any legal precedent for dealing with someone who may have broken the law while they were a different designation.” Her gaze goes back to Bucky. “This could have far-reaching implications.” 

Steve nods. “I know, he says, as Bucky exhales when Becca mentions the implications. His right hand tightens a little around the mug even as his left moves over to rest atop Steve’s almost absently. 

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits, voice almost inaudible. He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. He glances sideways at Steve. “I mentioned how much more progressive Canada’s become.” Bucky scrapes his teeth over his lower lip. “I have contacts there that could help us through the visa process if we need to leave the country.” Because there’s no chance that he’s not planning to go wherever Steve goes, and Canada is the best option as far as he can see. 

Steve frowns, but only because he hasn’t heard this before -- in truth, the fact that it’s suddenly clear Bucky has thought about this is both utterly not surprising, and utterly touching. He feels a little like he just walked in on Bucky having made him breakfast all over again, and his face probably shows it. 

“Think I’d look better in just the red and the white?” he murmurs, but the truth is, he knows it wouldn’t work like that. The truth is, leaving the United States for Canada would mean no more Captain America, he thinks. It would mean only Steve Rogers -- if that. 

And there’s a part of him that recoils at that, because it feels like running away. But there’s a part of him that looks at Bucky, at his sister, and knows that staying and fighting, if things get really bad, if HYDRA keeps its hold on the government or, hell, if the government sloughs the poison inside it and _still_ decides to punish him… If things get really bad, running might be the best option. At least, for a little while. 

“I think you’d look good in anything you decide to put on,” Bucky responds, meeting his eyes and momentarily forgetting that his sister is _right_ across the table from them. He’s glad she doesn’t make any gagging noises the way she used to when he’d bring a date home to meet his family. He can see he’s surprised Steve with the mention of Canada, and he knows him well enough to know that the idea of running or hiding for long won’t sit well with him. 

Bucky’s also always been pragmatic. And though it’s just a possible backup plan, he’s well aware of the possibility that they might have to utilize it, even if it’s just temporarily. 

“I guess it’s something we consider,” Steve finally says slowly, softly, eyes mostly on Bucky, but he eventually looks to Becca, assuming this is probably news to her, too. “I don’t want to plan on that just yet. But -- it’s good to have that in our back pockets.” 

It’s then that he lets out a breath, because, “You know I never meant for this to upend your life.” 

Bucky’s expression softens at Steve’s words. “Hey. I know that. And this isn’t just about you.” He draws in a breath, knowing the rest of what he hasn’t told Becca is going to be a lot harder for her to stomach. “As it turns out… the people who had me captive overseas are the same people who are after Steve now.” His fingers tighten just a bit around Steve’s and he’s glad, at least, that he’s having a better day with his arm. “It’s all tied together. And…” He ducks his head and closes his eyes for a moment. “The store’s gone, Becca. Burned down.” He’s hesitant to say the word _bombed_ , because that sounds much more frightening than arson, at least to him. 

Bucky’s not wrong. Becca had listened to most of what he’d had to say with a serious but understanding face. Now, though, her expression goes slack with surprise and real disbelief, as though Captain America at her doorstep is reasonable, but Bucky telling her this new information is not. 

She recovers quickly, but now the shock has been replaced with confusion, with fear, with worry. “ _What_?” she hisses, almost as if someone might be listening in, leaning forward on the table, eyes bright and intent. “Bucky, are you sure?” She glances at Steve, as though to check that he heard the same thing, and all Steve can do is nod grimly. 

Bucky presses his lips together, letting her take in that news and nodding at the same time Steve does when she asks if he’s sure. “I’m sure. One hundred percent.” He doesn’t tell her that the United States Secretary of State is one of the ones behind all of what’s happening. 

Becca shakes her head a little, saying, “Who would burn down the store? Bucky -- Was it them, too? Is that tied together, on top of it?” She looks a mix of livid and terrified, like she wants to get up and punch some noses, but also like she isn’t sure she can actually comprehend what she’s hearing. 

Steve knows how she feels. 

Bucky glances at Steve sideways, then nods again. “It is, yeah,” he admits. He leans back in his chair, sighing softly and letting his hand rest over Steve’s again, needing the contact as he hesitates. “Brock Rumlow’s involved in all of it.” His voice grows more hushed and his gaze drops the table, shame and guilt warring for a place in his eyes. “He had my apartment and the store bugged. Assuming it’s the only reason he was ever interested in me at all.” 

Becca’s eyes narrow at the name, and Steve can see her go from shocked to protective and angry almost in the space of a heartbeat. He twists his fingers to curl his hand into Bucky’s; if he wants contact, Steve’s more than happy to give it to him. Becca’s eyes flick to their hands, but then back up to their faces across the table. 

“He was also on my team,” Steve puts in, because she might as well have all the information. “I never much cared for him, but I didn’t realize what kind of person he was until it was too late.” 

“Turns out Brock’s biggest talent is acting,” Bucky says flatly, exhaling. He shifts a little in his seat, reluctantly looking up to meet Becca’s eyes, acknowledging silently just how right she’d been about the guy. He gives her a slight nod, trying to smile but not quite managing it. “Had a lot of people fooled.” And normally he considers himself a pretty good judge of character, but he had ignored so many damned signs right up until the time Brock had tried to claim him. 

Becca, to her credit, doesn’t say she tried to tell him. She can tell he’s kicking himself enough as it is. She sits back slowly, staring at him for a moment. “I’ll kill him.” There’s not a hint of kidding in her voice. 

The corner of Steve’s mouth ticks up at that. “I wish I could let you,” he says, because he can see that Becca means it, and he can certainly appreciate the sentiment. God knows he wants to do it, himself; and, guiltily, he knows he has a better chance than Becca. “But I promise, he’s going to pay for what he did. Preferably for a long time. Him, and all the people associated with him. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.” 

Becca doesn’t look overly mollified at that, but he can’t really blame her. He doesn’t like being told other people will take care of the problem, either, and Steve can already feel a kind of kinship with her that he hopes isn’t just in his head. They both care about Bucky, and that seems like a good basis for a friendship, if nothing else. 

She looks between them again. “What are you going to do about it?” she asks -- of one of them, both of them, it doesn’t seem to matter. 

Steve, at least, can answer that -- in part. “We’re going to figure out how deep this goes and expose it. Stop it. Make sure the government we have in place isn’t filled with poison. After that… I’m not sure. And I’m not sure how, but my team is working on it now -- the team I trust,” he adds, because he definitely wants to differentiate from the one Brock was on. “The Avengers.” 

And, “We’ll keep you in the loop,” he adds. “I don’t know how much we’ll be able to tell you, but I don’t see why Bucky can’t check in with you.” He has a feeling that if Bucky _doesn’t_ keep her appraised, she might just show up on the other coast, and that won’t do anyone any good. 

Steve’s not wrong at all. Now that Becca’s already looped into what’s been going on, she fully plans to stay that way, and there’s little doubt in her mind Bucky will do just that -- because otherwise she _will_ hop on a plane and track him down. So she nods reluctantly. “I suppose that’ll have to be enough.” She narrows her eyes at Bucky. “For now.” She gives him a meaningful look. 

Bucky has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, nodding. “I’ll keep you updated as much as I can, one way or another.” 

“Yeah. You will.” Becca’s voice has softened, but it’s still firm, and Steve knows that she means it. 

Bucky gazes back at his sister. “So now that you pretty much know everything about what’s going on with me and my life… how’ve you been? How’s uh… how are Mom and Dad?” His voice drops. 

At the question, Becca lets out a breath and slumps back in her chair a little, a little more relaxed, but not entirely. “Oh, you know,” she says. “School’s busy. Nobody new in _my_ life,” she adds, with a pointed glance this time at their hands. Then her gaze cuts away for a moment, before coming back to Bucky’s face. Her expression is a little softer now, definitely different -- and so is her voice, when she says, “They’re all right. At least, according to Mom. She says Dad likes it out there, but I’m not sure if she does.” 

Bucky feels his cheeks grow warm at that very knowing look at his and Steve’s intertwined hands. “Good. That’s good.” He’s glad their parents are doing well, but the smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Becca sighs. “I haven’t talked to Dad. You know,” she says, and doesn’t explain further, although Steve can guess, based on the looks on the siblings’ faces, that there’s a story -- and understanding -- there. “She asks about you. Sometimes. I say you’re fine.” 

She does quirk an eyebrow at Bucky, like she could encapsulate this entire situation -- and it is not actually ‘fine.’ “I also say she should just call you herself, but I take it she hasn’t done that.” 

Bucky pushes down the pang of hurt he feels at the knowledge that Becca’s been trying to get their mom to call him, but she hasn’t. He wishes he was surprised, but he’s not. He doubts his mom’s ever had enough love for him to go against his dad’s wishes to have nothing more to do with him. Having a useless omega son come back from combat had done a number on his father and he’d made his thoughts and feelings on the situation _vividly_ clear. 

“No. Haven’t heard a word from either of them since the hospital.” Bucky shrugs, trying his hardest to be as nonchalant and unaffected as he _wants_ to be. “It’s fine. It’s for the best.” He doesn’t think his dad would actually lay hands on his mom for going against his wishes, but he’s always been a little unpredictable and his disdain for male omegas has been a staple in his belief system since Bucky was old enough to know what it meant. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need his dad. He doesn’t need his mom, either. He’s been doing fine without them, and he’ll keep doing fine without them. The ache in his chest is just an involuntary physical reaction to an uncomfortable conversation. 

It’s not just Bucky who feels that ache; Steve knows he doesn’t have the full story, but he also knows that it can’t be a good one. Not based on what he does know, and not based on the conversation now. Not based on the way Bucky looks, because he’s not fooling Steve, and Steve would bet anything that he’s not fooling Becca, either. 

He glances at Bucky, unable to keep the frown off his face entirely, fingers, twining though his and squeezing because it’s all he can do, right now. He probably shouldn’t hold him or kiss him in front of his sister, not after they’d just met. But he wants Bucky to know that he’s right here, that he’s going to _stay_ here, and Bucky still has a family, and they’re right here at this table with him. 

The two people he loves the most in the world are there with him, and Bucky can’t help but lean into Steve’s warmth beside him even as he looks down at their fingers, taking comfort in the way Steve squeezes his hand. 

Becca lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “It might be for the best, but it’s not fine,” she says, because she knows their dad, too, grew up in the same house with Bucky hearing the same rhetoric he had. So maybe it’s for the best, that he doesn’t spew it at his son any longer, but it certainly isn’t fine. And if Bucky is really as attached to Captain America as he seems -- and he seems attached, and so does Cap, right back -- then, given that Cap used to be an omega (which is so weird, it’s hard to think about, and the only reason she can readily accept it is because she knows her brother didn’t go away on his last tour as an omega, himself), she can’t imagine their dad having anything good to say about that, either. Even if Cap is an alpha now. 

Bucky knows he needs to fill Steve in on the details regarding his parents, and he will, soon. “No. It’s not fine, but… it is what it is. Can’t change ‘em.” He doubts there’s anything or anyone that will ever change his dad’s mind on things, and by extension, his mom’s. 

He picks up his coffee mug and finishes off the little bit that’s left. “So.” He leans forward a little. “Not a single person’s caught your eye this semester? No one?” Bucky raises his eyebrows, eager to change the conversation to something a little lighter, even if he’d been the one to bring up their parents to begin with.

Becca’s lips quirk up like she sees right through Bucky and what he’s doing, but she crosses her arms and lets him change the subject. “Not a single person, sorry. _I’ve_ been busy studying,” she says, as if to indicate that Bucky clearly hasn’t -- never mind that it’s not studying he should or would otherwise be doing. “Not seriously, anyway. There is a cute barista at the Starbucks down the block, but I feel like describing him would be lost on you,” she says, and now her smile gets a little bigger, a little more devious. “You two seem like you’re doing all right for yourselves, though.” 

Bucky grins at her as innocently as possible, though he does cock his head to the side at the mention of a barista at Starbucks. His cheeks grow warm again, though, and he glances at Steve, expression softening. “Yeah. I think we’re doing pretty well, all things considered,” he admits, smiling more sincerely now. It’s hard to look at Steve and _not_ want to smile for real. 

For a minute, it looks like Becca is analyzing Bucky’s face, like she’s making sure he really means it, and isn’t being forced into anything he doesn’t want. Call her cautious after Brock Rumlow, because maybe the guy sitting next to her brother now is Captain America, but that doesn’t mean she has to trust him right off the bat. 

Steve, for his part, probably looks a mix between sappy and embarrassed, but definitely more the latter, as he gives Becca his most reassuring smile. “Nothing in my life is ever normal, but I’ve kind of learned you just have to roll with the punches,” he says -- and then grows a little more serious. “If there is anything you want or need to know about me, you can ask. I told Bucky the same thing. You both don’t have to think I’m hiding things from you.” 

Becca considers them both a moment more, but that seems to satisfy her, at least for the moment. “I’m just impressed Bucky managed to keep so much a secret for even this long,” she says, eyeing her brother. Maybe it was worth it, like he said, but she’s at least a little impressed, if maybe just a little disappointed, too. 

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand lightly before shifting his gaze back to Becca. “Anyone want more coffee?” he offers, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. 

“I think I’m supposed to be the one offering that, big brother,” Becca points out with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, but you _haven’t_ and I’m out of coffee.” He turns his mug upside down to illustrate his point. “See? Totally empty. It’s shameful.” His lips quirk up in a smile and he holds his hand out for her empty mug.

“Was he always like this?” Steve asks, teasing, although it’s maybe a little unclear (and unimportant) whether he means a jerk (in the best kind of way) or fueled solely by coffee. It doesn’t matter -- both are things he pretty much loves unequivocally about Bucky, and he dutifully pushes his own (empty) mug toward his boyfriend as well. “If you’re getting coffee for everyone else,” he says innocently, before turning back to Becca. “If he wanted to leave us alone together again, though, he needs to find a way to get out of the room.” 

Not that Steve thinks Bucky needs to leave him and Becca alone. Or that he wants Bucky to go far, period. 

Bucky smirks at Steve’s teasing, poking him lightly in the arm before grabbing his cup. “Hey, I’m not trying to leave you alone in the room. I’m just not caffeinated enough, and me not-caffeinated enough isn’t a pretty picture. Which I’m positive you can _both_ attest to at this point.” 

“He’s not actually very subtle,” Becca puts in, but of course, her tone of voice says that may or may not really be true. “He is definitely annoying, though.” 

Steve grins a little wider, and admits, “I see why all he has to say about you are good things.” 

Bucky shoots his sister a look. “I’ll have you know I’m _extremely_ subtle and I resent the implication that I’m _not_.” He sticks his tongue out at her like the adult that he is and makes his way into the kitchen, pouring each of them more coffee from the pot and adding plenty of sugar to both his own and Becca’s, carrying them back before grabbing Steve’s since it’s a lot easier to carry three mugs when they’re all empty. He sets Steve’s down, too, then slips into the seat beside his once more. “And I’m the big brother so it’s literally in my job description to be annoying. Sorry, Becca.” 

Steve takes his mug with a grateful nod, sitting up a little more and leaning on his elbows as Bucky sits back down. “Is that how it works? I’m not really familiar with the rules. Only children have it a lot tougher,” he teases, finally starting to feel at ease enough to really tease Bucky in front of his sister. 

Bucky’s lips quirk upwards at Steve’s remark about only children having it tougher. He thinks that’s probably true in a lot of ways, thinks it’s probably a lot lonelier. He bumps Steve’s knee under the table with his own.

Becca just rolls her eyes and says, “I don’t think it matters whether they’re younger or older. Brothers are just supposed to be annoying.” 

Steve hums like she’s imparting important life lessons, taking a sip of his refilled coffee. “And sisters are smarter and prettier, that’s it?” 

He figures even if Bucky kicks him for that, at least it will have been worth it. 

Bucky just smirks at Becca. “Hey, I’ll give you that she’s smarter,” he says, curling his hand around his coffee mug. “But I’m definitely prettier.” 

Becca smirks right back at him. “Well, I’m pretty sure Steve agrees with you there,” she says matter-of-factly, amusement glimmering in her eyes as she takes a drink of her coffee. “But to be perfectly fair and honest, he’s actually the prettiest one in the room.” 

Bucky grins. “No arguments here.” He pats Steve’s hand lightly. 

Steve snorts softly, still maybe not entirely sure what to do -- or, really, how to feel -- when people say things like that and probably mean it, but he’s learned to take it a lot more graciously than he might once have. “Think I have to argue it back around in Bucky’s favor, but only if saying that won’t kick me out of Becca’s good graces,” he says, before taking another sip of coffee. “I’d like to stay on her good side, because I’d like to stick around. I can see how you two are related, though, so if one of you’s good looking, the other is, too.” 

It’s the best compromise he can make, while still admitting that yeah, he’s pretty much only got eyes for Bucky. 

Becca hums, smile softening a little at his words. “He’s definitely a keeper, Bucky,” she informs him, and her tone is teasing but with an underlying seriousness there and Bucky knows that she approves. Because Becca would never say something like that if she didn’t mean it. 

He leans into Steve a bit more. “Yeah.” Bucky turns his head to look at Steve, eyes filled with warmth. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna keep him.” 

***

Visiting Becca is definitely doing Bucky good; it’s good to see him with someone that’s not an employee or one of Steve’s friends (well, teammates, although they’re his friends, too), in his own element, at complete ease with his sister. Steve starts to feel less and less like an outsider as the afternoon goes on, as Bucky and Becca catch up and Steve offers commentary when he can, as the conversation turns from serious to more mundane, although that seriousness doesn’t entirely go away, given the current situation. 

Later in the afternoon, Becca tasks Bucky with heading down the block to get them all Starbucks; Steve makes the mistake of mentioning he’s never _had_ Starbucks, which mostly gets the siblings into a good-natured, although worryingly escalating, argument over what kind of over-the-top drink they should introduce him to first. Steve leaves that one in their capable(?) hands, figuring he can definitely humor them without too much regret, and watches Bucky slip out the door with a pang that’s stupid and completely unnecessary, because he’s just going down the block and Steve should be able to handle twenty or thirty minutes without Bucky by his side by now. It feels like it’s getting harder, not easier, but he’s probably just being ridiculous. 

He and Becca retreat to her small couch, and by now, getting the chance to spend a couple minutes alone with her is much less nerve-wracking than it was when they’d first walked in the door. 

Becca curls her legs underneath her, studying Steve momentarily before she leans her head on one hand and offers him a smile. “So. You know how I mentioned my brother not being very subtle? Even though he tried really hard to keep me distracted, I couldn’t help but notice that he failed to mention how the two of you met in the first place.” And she’s pretty sure it’s a story that she wants to hear, because she can’t imagine it was anything dull. Not with the two of _them_ involved. 

Steve can’t help but smile wryly, leaning forward to balance his elbows on his knees. “It was a little unconventional,” he starts, but Becca is here, asking _him_ , and he hopes Bucky won’t mind Steve telling Becca, that there isn’t a major reason he’s kept it from her. But it sounds like he’d told her at least a little about Brock, so it seems like it’s not necessarily a secret. 

Becca looks amused at his calling their first meeting unconventional. Somehow she’s not surprised. But she doesn’t say anything, so Steve goes on.

“We kind of ran into each other on the street. He was… looking for someone he could look like he was with, to throw Brock off his trail.” Steve had never even seen Brock in the crowd that day, which still bothers him a little, even if it isn’t surprising, given the other’s covert training and the fact that Steve just genuinely wasn’t looking. “He found me. And asked me to play along, and I offered to walk him home.” 

That’s mostly true; it leaves out the fact that Bucky had just walked up and planted a kiss on him, but it’s not necessarily unfaithful to what actually happened. 

It’s an interesting story, even if the mention of Brock makes Becca immediately narrow her eyes. So Brock had been bothering Bucky still, which _also_ isn’t surprising given what they told her today. “I never liked that asshole,” she says matter-of-factly. “Way back when Bucky was recovering in the hospital and I met him. He made my skin crawl.” 

Steve’s mouth twists, but Becca’s not wrong. “You have good instincts,” he says; “I wish I’d caught on sooner.” But maybe Bucky’d been right, that Brock’s best skill was acting. And, Steve has to admit, there is a certain amount of cool detachment that’s required to do a job like STRIKE’s. Steve’s worked with a lot of soldiers, and it’s not on him to say whether how they deal with things is right or wrong -- except when it is very, very wrong. “I wish I’d caught on sooner to a lot of things, though,” he adds with a sigh, leaning back into the couch again. 

Becca cocks her head, though, a smile tugging at her mouth now. “Well. Bucky’s always been pretty creative when he’s had to be. Things some people would never think to do are the first things he thinks about. The old saying ‘think outside the box?’ I’m pretty sure that statement was made with him in mind, except sometimes there’s not even a box in sight.” There’s warm fondness in her eyes. 

As Becca goes on, Steve can’t help but feel his regret slipping away, replaced by a real smile. “That’s one of the best things about him. I mean -- there are a lot of good things about him,” he adds, with a little laugh. “But I like the way he thinks. I like the way he acts. I like -- him,” he admits, because it should be something his sister knows. And then, even though it feels a little raw and new to say, he adjusts the wording: “I love him.” 

Becca smiles softly at his admission. “I knew that,” she admits. “He loves you, too.” It’s easy to see with the way the two of them look at one another. At the way they casually sought each other’s touch, their body language. 

“But…” Becca presses her lips together, considering her words. “He’d been through a lot and I think Brock used that. Got to him when he was vulnerable.” And she knows her brother can compartmentalize, but he also tends to wear his heart on his sleeve. If you know him at all, you can read every single emotion in his eyes. 

“If I ever actually see Brock again, I’m going to break his nose.” Her voice is matter of fact. She knows how to throw a punch because Bucky had made sure of that when they were growing up. It’ll be worth any possible jail time. 

“I’ll -- uh, what’s the term, hold your beer?” Steve hazards, because frankly, maybe he’s supposed to be a symbol people look up to or whatever they want to call him, but in truth, Steve Rogers is not above punching someone for something they’ve done, and he would never insinuate that anyone else should be, either. Besides, Becca probably wouldn’t break his jaw -- not that Steve is sorry for that, either. It’s absolutely what Brock deserved, for trying to mate Bucky against his will. 

“But it’s not your fault, either,” Becca adds. She knows that much is true. 

Then she sits up a little straighter, gazing at him intently. “So you love him. What do you intend to do about that?” 

Steve’s not surprised when Becca essentially demands that he let her in on his intentions. It maybe takes him right back to the level of nervous he’d been before they’d stepped through the door. She doesn’t seem unhappy with their relationship, but there’s always the chance that she is. 

Even so, Steve isn’t ashamed of it, or ashamed of what he wants: “I intend to stick around. I intend to treat him the way he deserves to be treated.” He isn’t sure whether he should tell her that they’ve agreed they both want to mate; that feels like a conversation Bucky should be here for, but he doesn’t want to look like he’s hiding anything. “We’ve talked about some things, but I don’t think I should say all of them without Bucky here,” he says. “But -- if he wanted, I would marry him. I can’t exactly ask your dad if that would be all right, but I can ask you how you feel about it.” 

Becca likes this man. She’s always been a bit fascinated by the idea of actual superheroes existing, and she’s not sure she’s ever liked one as much as she has Captain America. That he’s so down to earth and not arrogant or egotistical is a major bonus. She also has a feeling that right now she’s made him a little nervous, but it clearly doesn’t stop him from being honest and open about his intentions. 

Still, she tries to imagine how that conversation with their dad would go and it’s all she can do not to grimace. 

“Bucky seems happier than I’ve seen him. And I _do_ have good instincts about people and right now those instincts are telling me that you’re a really good fit for him. So if he wants to marry you -- whether that’s tomorrow or six years from now -- as long as you’re good to him? You have my blessing,” Becca tells him honestly, offering him a warm smile. “But if you hurt him, it’s my obligation and duty as his sister to track you down and break your nose. Just so you know that up front.” 

“I would also hold your beer for that,” Steve says solemnly, because, “I don’t want to hurt him. I mean, I can’t guarantee we’ll never fight, but I can guarantee I will never walk away because of it.” And, “I also know that I’m not the safest person to be around. I won’t belittle his decision to do it, but I will do everything in my power to keep him safe.” 

And underneath all that, something in him is _soaring_ at the way Becca says Bucky is happy with him. That she says they’re a good fit, and she’d support Steve marrying him. And even that she’s willing to protect her brother, be it from Brock Rumlow or Steve himself. _That_ , he knows, is what family should be about. 

“Well, to be fair, Bucky joined the Army the day that he turned 18. I’m not sure safety’s ever been a primary concern for him,” Becca says wryly. “But I also appreciate your reassurances.” 

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Steve asks softly, after a moment. “Or do you feel like that’s going behind Bucky’s back?” He will accept her answer if it’s the latter. 

Becca goes quiet for a moment at the mention of their parents, knowing that given Steve’s question, Bucky hasn’t told him much about that situation. 

“I can tell you about them,” she finally says, nodding. Because she thinks he needs to know what Bucky’s had to deal with since he was a child. Since they were both children. “Our father is… a stereotypical alpha. Right out of a bad movie or book. Our mom’s an omega. It’s never been the healthiest of relationships. He very much expects her to be the stereotypical omega woman, there to please him and fulfill his whims.” She presses her lips together. “He’s never been violent with her or anything, and a lot of the time they’re okay, but… not always. And he has certain beliefs, particularly when it comes to designations, that are archaic, to say the least. 

“Bucky was born a beta, which you know. But my dad was _really_ disappointed his only son wasn’t an alpha like him.” Her smile is bitter. “When I _was_ born an alpha… well. It wasn’t difficult to see how differently he treated us. I never understood it. I still don’t. But it’s never made Bucky resent me or hate me, like it might have a lot of siblings. He’s always been there for me. Always.” And she’ll always be there for him, come hell or high water. 

Steve’s glad Becca can explain some of this to him; he’s gotten a lot from context, but he knows he’s making a lot of assumptions, and he’d rather know the truth. 

And the truth is… the truth is both easy and hard to accept. Easy, because Bucky’s dad sounds like a lot of alphas Steve had known, growing up. But hard, because he’d also heard that a lot of things had changed, in the intervening decades -- but not everything, and not everyone. To hear that Bucky and Becca grew up with that, when maybe it could have, should have been different, certainly isn’t pleasant. 

But it definitely gives him a better understanding of Bucky, because despite everything, there’s a sappy smile that starts tugging at his lips, and he says, “Bucky’s just like that, isn’t he. He takes hate and he doesn’t let it persist. He does the right thing, even when it’s not the easiest.” He could have hated his sister, he could have turned out bitter and angry, and it could have gotten so much worse when HYDRA changed his designation. But he hadn’t done any of those things. Instead, he’d joined the fight for omega rights. God, Steve isn’t sure how, but he’s kind of more in love with Bucky right now than he was even five seconds ago. 

“When he came back from Afghanistan, he was badly injured. Really badly, Steve.” Becca hesitates. “Have you seen his arm?” 

The question wipes the sappy look right off Steve’s face. “Yes,” he says, because he has -- not often, but when they were swimming, and he knows Bucky has good days and bad days with it. He’s treated it as normal because the one thing he’d hated, growing up, was everyone treating his own myriad health problems as abnormal. But he wants to know more and he wants to know how to help. “But he doesn’t really talk about it, and I haven’t asked. Not yet.” 

Becca draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, mostly to try and keep her composure. “They tortured him. They had him for almost three months, Steve. Hearing what you two told me earlier, I can only guess they were trying to see if he would heal faster than normal. But they hurt him. Burned him. Cut him. Broke his arm. Exposed his skin to extreme cold. I don’t even know what else. He didn’t heal the way they thought he would, I guess -- but they did enough that he has permanent nerve damage.” 

She doesn’t have tears in her eyes, but her voice does wobble just a little. 

Steve listens quietly as Becca speaks, letting her get through it, letting her list everything, feeling the tension creep into his shoulders and this cold lump in the pit of his stomach grow the more she speaks. It makes him hurt for Bucky, and at the same time it makes him angry at himself, and angrier at the people who did this. It makes him all the more resolute in the knowledge that they need to root out HYDRA, wherever they are, and destroy them, before they can destroy good people like Bucky. He clenches his hands so hard he can almost feel his knuckles creak, making an effort loosen them and take a slow breath, as Becca finishes. 

“I think that makes sense,” he says quietly. “I think whatever they were trying to do, it was related to the serum.” And that makes him feel guilty and responsible, in a way, even though he knows it’s not necessarily his fault, directly. 

Becca studies him, resting her hands atop her knees. “And regardless of whatever they were trying to do, or not trying to do, you know that’s not in _any_ way your fault, right?” She levels him with a knowing look. “You may have been the first person to get the serum, but if it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else instead. HYDRA would still exist, would still be doing this any way you look at it.” 

Steve lets out a soft little laugh, because of course, Becca’s reading his mind (or maybe his face), and he does appreciate that she feels comfortable enough to tell him it’s not his fault. He also knows it would be easy to blame him, or the project he was part of, and he knows he doesn’t think he could blame her if she did. But she doesn’t, and it just proves that she’s as kind and forgiving as her brother. “I feel a little responsible. I think I always will,” he admits. “But I’ll try to keep that in mind.” He will, because -- she’s right. And if someone else had gotten the serum, maybe they wouldn’t be poised to take down HYDRA, like he desperately hopes they are now. 

“But on top of that, they somehow managed to change his designation,” Becca says quietly. “When my dad found out -- when he heard that his son was now an _omega_ and not even a beta --” Her jaw tightens. “He told Bucky that as far as he was concerned, his son died in Afghanistan. And within a week he had my mom packed up and they moved to Indiana so they didn’t have to exist in the same city.” 

There’s no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. 

“I don’t know if they were trying to change his designation, or if it was just a side effect you can’t get around, but…” Steve shakes his head, lips pressed together. “I know what it’s like to be an omega. I know what it’s like to suddenly _be_ a different designation, how different everything seems, and how differently everyone treats you. And I know he’s exactly the same person as he always was, that designation doesn’t really mean a damn when it comes to a person’s worth, and I am so sorry your parents can’t see that. And I am so glad that you can.” 

Becca she falls silent, listening as he talks about knowing what it was like to have your designation suddenly changed and have people look at you differently. In her opinion, that makes him an even better fit for her brother. Because it’s quite possible that they’re the only two people who _do_ know what that’s like. 

Steve offers her a smile, tight, but genuine. “I also know what it’s like to be in pain all the time. If there’s anything I can do, even if it’s by not acting like anything happened, then I will. And I want to know. From him, or from you.” 

Her expression softens at the offer of help. “He’d probably never say anything, but his left shoulder bothers him pretty constantly. It tenses up and gets stiff and sore. It’s something I overheard him telling the physical therapist one day. She suggested regular massages, which I’m pretty sure he hasn’t done.” She sighs softly. “It’s expensive and Bucky’s never been one to spend that kind of money on himself even if it’s so he’s not in pain all the time. But… maybe it doesn’t have to cost.” She drops her gaze to his hands and then gives him a small smile, arching her eyebrows. 

When Becca gives him something he might actually be able to do for Bucky, Steve veritably lights up, leaning forward a little, looking extremely interested. He’s smart, and he can definitely get what she’s hinting at, and… it’s not something he knows how to do, but it’s certainly something he could learn. “I think it absolutely doesn’t have to cost,” he says, quietly, intently. “And I admit, that’s not exactly gonna be a hardship to do that for him,” he grins just a little conspiratorially, but his propriety won’t let him insinuate _too_ much more in front of his boyfriend’s _sister_. 

They haven’t even really been close, aside from kissing and sleeping piled on top of each other, but while massage _can_ be sensual, it doesn’t have to be. And Steve would, quite frankly, do it for Bucky even if it _was_ a hardship, and he hopes Becca can see that. “I’ll do some research,” he promises. “I’m a quick study.” 

Becca’s face lights up, too, mirroring his own, her eyes bright with approval. “I knew you were my favorite superhero for good reasons.” Her voice is light, playful, but she does mean the words. She’s sure the rest of the Avengers are great, too, but the one sitting on her sofa has captured her brother’s heart and it appears that Bucky’s captured Steve’s right back -- and that’s huge. It’s incredible. 

Steve pauses, and then adds, “If there’s ever anything you need -- if I can help, just call. If you ever don’t feel safe, or anything like that… you’re family, too. If that’s okay with you.” 

Becca’s smile is soft at his words and she leans forward, grasping onto his hand with one of her own. “That’s more than okay with me, Steve,” she says quietly, tugging on his hand lightly to get him to move closer so she can actually hug him. “Welcome to the family.”


	12. Chapter 12

They spend the rest of the afternoon at Becca’s -- and then some of the evening, too, grabbing dinner before it starts getting too late and they have to start back or they won’t get back until sunrise. It’s been a good day -- a long day, and an important day, too -- and the ride back is much like the ride there, with a little chatter and both of them lapsing now and again into comfortable silence, and Steve’s fingers twined in Bucky’s the whole way. 

The drive back is a bit shorter, thanks to less traffic, but it’s still nearly one in the morning when they get back. Not that Steve minds -- they slept fourteen hours, yesterday -- but while he’s not exactly exhausted anymore, he could do to lie down for a few hours, and Bucky’s sleep schedule (when he’s not stressed) is pretty much like a normal human’s, so Steve gets them moving toward bed. They feed Alpine, get themselves a few water bottles, then wash up and brush their teeth and climb back into the absurdly large bed in the room they’ve claimed. Steve lies awake for a while after Bucky’s asleep, just thinking, evaluating, deciding, but eventually he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, too, one arm flung over Bucky’s torso and their sides pressed close together. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep, when he wakes up again. It’s still dark -- the deep, dark of nighttime -- and for a minute, he’s not even sure _why_ he’s awake. But then he registers that Bucky’s breathing is a little labored and the body under his arm is a little too hot, a little clammy, even through Bucky’s shirt. Completely awake now, Steve frowns, pushing himself back a little to peer down at Bucky, who’s not quite tossing and turning, exactly, but certainly isn’t sleeping soundly. There’s something in the air of the bedroom that feels tight, thick, something in Steve’s lungs that makes him feel like he’s breathing in smoke, but he doesn’t understand it and for a second, he almost thinks they’re under attack -- 

But it’s probably just the last vestiges of sleep, clinging to him. And Bucky is probably having a nightmare, and Steve probably got too close and he knows he runs like a furnace, and Malibu is warmer than New York. The air conditioning’s still turned down from yesterday, too. That’s all it is, Steve somehow reasons, even as he reaches out a hand to touch Bucky’s shoulder, gently. “Buck? Hey, soldier,” he says, remembering how Bucky had called him that before, how nice it had felt. “Hey, wake up.” 

A quiet, pained whimper escapes Bucky’s mouth but he doesn’t open his eyes. The very idea of doing so is somehow _more_ painful. It takes him a moment to start really waking up, for the last of the broken imagery -- fire and blades and _pain_ \-- to be swept out of his mind, leaving him in that state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness where nothing feels quite real. Except even as it dawns on him that’s he waking up, he knows something’s _wrong_. 

Because everything hurts. He’s half-afraid to try moving, sure that the fiery pain will only get worse if he does. He tries holding his breath for a few seconds, tries willing it down, but -- it doesn’t help. Holding his breath only makes his chest hurt worse. 

He shivers involuntarily, groaning at the violent movement, but he’s _freezing_ \-- except he’s also sweating, can feel it dripping down the back of his neck and oh god, that’s disgusting. He can’t feel his left arm at all, not even the usual pained tingling in his hand and fingers, and he thinks that can’t possibly be a good sign. He lets out a shuddering breath. “Don’t feel so good,” he mumbles. 

Steve is intimately familiar with those four words, except it was always him mumbling them, when he had a cold or the flu or pneumonia or rheumatic fever or any of a hundred other things that probably made him look as miserable as Bucky does right now. He’s sick -- that much is clear -- and Steve’s heart is already hammering in his chest as he sits up a little more, gently increasing the pressure on Bucky’s shoulder to try to get him to roll over onto his back so Steve can get a better look at him in the light spilling in from the windows. 

“You don’t look so good, either,” he says, softly, trying to be teasing but he can’t keep the concern out of his voice. “Were you feeling okay earlier? What’s wrong now?” His fingers don’t seem to want to leave Bucky’s skin, brushing over his shoulder, his neck, his face, his hair, back down to his chest. “I think you’ve got a fever. You feel cold?”

Bucky lets Steve help him roll over onto his back and the movement makes him a little dizzy, expression dazed as he finally manages to open glassy eyes, looking up at Steve. He tries to make sense of the questions he’s asking, but the only thing that manages to register is the feel of Steve’s fingers when they touch his bare skin. “Freezing,” he murmurs, shivering again. But his gaze stays locked on Steve’s face and he doesn’t want to look away. He reaches out with his right hand, catching Steve’s even as it rests over his chest, over the shirt he’s wearing, the shirt that’s drenched in sweat. 

Definitely a fever, then; Steve frowns, brushing the fingers of his other hand over Bucky’s forehead to get his sweat-soaked hair out of the way. Even in the dim light, he looks flushed and his pupils are wide, huge, and Steve can barely look away from him. His heart is still pounding as his stomach twists and his fingers curl into Bucky’s, somehow feeling like this is _more_ than a fever. Everything feels weirdly intense, and he doesn’t know why it does, but it’s undeniable. “It must’ve come on really fast,” he says, more to say it so that it’ll maybe make sense than to inform Bucky, who obviously knows. “And it can’t be the AOSD, I’m right here. Buck, is there anything else? Just the fever? How else are you feeling?” 

Steve’s been leaning closer, bit by bit, only realizing once he’s just a few inches from Bucky’s face. But he can’t pull back, it’s unfathomable. 

Bucky’s gaze drops immediately to Steve’s mouth as he moves closer, looking him over and looking so damned earnest and worried. He tries to respond, but the only thing that comes out is a quiet sound that even he can recognize as _needy_. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He licks his lips, still holding tightly onto Steve’s hand over his chest as his fever-addled brain starts to put things together. It shouldn’t be possible, because he’s taking suppressants. He hasn’t missed a dose. It doesn’t really make _sense_ , but nothing about the last few months of his life have made sense, so this probably isn’t any different. He shifts restlessly beneath Steve. “Heat,” he manages to whisper, eyes dilated as he stares up at him, willing him to understand the meaning behind the word. 

For a second, Steve doesn’t understand -- maybe willfully, admittedly, but for that one second, he thinks maybe Bucky just wants him to turn _on_ the heat, because he’s cold. 

But that’s not it. Even as his brain ticks over that thought, he knows it’s wrong. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach, in the center of his chest, deep in his lungs and he knows what Bucky means. He doesn’t know why it’s happening, if Bucky’s still taking his medication, but whatever the reason, it _is_ happening. And this isn’t the same kind of weak, not-quite-the-flu heats that Steve used to get. Because his, if you could even call them heats, were half-hearted at best, his body trying to make him feverish and itchy and mostly those were just weeks he either missed work or school due to whole-body cramps, or that he got into ten times more fights as usual. 

But this… this is a real heat, and Steve genuinely isn’t sure what Bucky’s going to want him to do about it. “Oh,” he finally says, on a slow, nearly silent exhale. “Okay. Okay. I -- what do you need? How do you want me to help?” 

He’s a little afraid Bucky’s going to tell him to go. But he’s just as afraid that Bucky’s going to beg him to stay. Heats are personal things -- or, at least, that’s what Steve was always taught. They’re supposed to be private and you’re not supposed to talk about them or complain. If anything, his lack of real heats had been a blessing, because he wouldn’t have known what to do, really, if he’d gotten a full-blown one. So he feels a little helpless, now, and he doesn’t know the best way to change that. 

Bucky can see the moment the truth of the situation dawns on Steve’s, and he tries to smile, wants to reassure him, but he can’t quite manage it. His eyes burn from the fever, his entire body aching not dissimilarly to the way he’d felt when he’d woke up the first several times in the hospital. Not that different from how he’d felt the majority of last week, when Steve had been locked away and out of reach. His skin itches all over and he has to force himself to take in a couple of slow, deep breaths in an attempt to clear his mind. It’s an impossible feat, though, as he tries to remember everything he’s read about omega heats, knowing eventually he’d have one, drugs or not. 

He just hadn’t expected it to happen this soon. He should have known better. 

Steve feels stupid almost as soon as he asks. He knows Bucky’s never had a heat, knows he probably doesn’t know how to handle it, either. Hell, Steve was the omega for most of his life, he should know what to do now, but mostly he just feels useless, antsy and anxious with nowhere for the energy to go. But when Bucky tries to smile at him like that, like he’s trying to reassure Steve that it’ll be okay -- he knows he has to treat this like any other situation he’s faced. He has to stay calm and figure out the best way out -- and in this case, the best way out is through. It’s the only way out. 

Bucky’s breathing is heavy and his chest hurts, but he tugs lightly on Steve’s hand, moving it to his throat, bare skin against bare skin and he closes his eyes at the wave of relief that hits almost as hard as the pain. “Touch,” he whispers. “Please.” His throat feels dry, like he hasn’t had a drink in weeks, which is ridiculous considering how much coffee and water he’d had to drink all day. 

Bucky finally gives him a direction, a request, and it’s like Steve has control of himself all over again. He lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding and nods, shuffling to sink down on one elbow, pressing his whole body up against the overheated side of Bucky’s, resting his other palm against the side of his neck for a moment, brushing his thumb over his jaw. “Okay,” he says quietly, brushing his hand up over Bucky’s face, thumb tracing his cheekbone. “Okay, I can do that.” He feels almost a little guilty, like Bucky’s given him free rein to touch him, and he wants to be respectful of that, wants to make sure he doesn’t do anything Bucky wouldn’t normally be comfortable with. 

Even if there’s a part of him that feels like a snake, uncoiling, rearing up, making him want to climb over Bucky and press him into the bed, touch him and kiss him until there’s no part of them that isn’t touching. But that’s just his stupid libido, Steve tells himself, and he shoves it back down, shoves the mental image away and concentrates on what he’s got, right here and now, feeling the heat seep out of Bucky’s body and into his own until he’s starting to feel overheated, too. 

It helps for a few moments, having Steve pressed close, fingers touching Bucky’s face, gentle and soothing. It’s also blindingly apparent to Bucky after those few moments that it’s not going to be enough. Not nearly enough. He shivers, making an unhappy noise as he turns more into Steve’s body, shivering again as his head throbs with a dull headache. He presses his forehead into Steve’s shirt-covered chest, breathing growing more labored again. 

Involuntarily, tears prick his eyelids and he holds his breath because he’s afraid that in one horrific second he’s going to start crying for real, out loud, and goddammit, he still has a little bit of pride left. Not much, but it’s there, hanging on by a thread. 

The way Bucky sounds as he turns into Steve hits something deep inside his chest. It’s like how a mother feels when her baby cries -- Steve would do anything in his power to make Bucky feel better, to make sure he never has to make a sound like that again. He slides his hand down the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers raking through damp hair, starting to stroke down his spine as Steve’s body starts to curl around him when he feels Bucky’s fingers grasp onto the material of Steve’s shirt, tugging absently, like his body knows what it needs even though his brain hasn’t yet figured it out. 

_That_ hits something else inside Steve, only it’s a little further down than his chest. He feels this whole-body rush of heat, like the way he used to feel when he’d get nauseous, only he’s not nauseous now. He feels energized, desperate, ready to crawl out of his skin and doing his best _not_ to do that, to keep stroking Bucky’s hair calmly instead. “Hm?” he hums, like a question, to the fingers buried in the fabric at his chest.

The fingers in his hair make Bucky sigh, eyes drifting shut momentarily even when Steve drags his hand down his spine next. He’s never felt anything like this, doesn’t know how touch alone can alleviate the various aches and pains still flickering through him. He knows there’s a science behind it, something to do with pheromones and hormones and other things he can’t remember at the moment. 

But he keeps tugging clumsily at Steve’s shirt. All he does know is that he needs more. 

Steve eventually seems to get it and says, “Okay -- hang on --” and shifts so he can sit up a little more, Bucky reluctantly letting go of his shirt long enough to Steve to tug it off and toss it somewhere toward the edge of the bed. He barely feels cooler at all despite the fact that he’s bare-chested in the dark room. But if Bucky wants more contact, Steve is more than happy to give it to him. 

Bucky bites down on his lip at the loss of contact, reaching down with his right hand to tug his own shirt up and off, throwing it haphazardly somewhere away, out of sight. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. Because then Steve’s opening his arms and he shifts closer to him, pressing his chest up against Steve’s, eyes still red-rimmed and glassy. He buries his face against Steve’s neck, relief rushing through him. 

“Is this better?” Steve asks, 

“Yes,” Bucky murmurs, because it _is_ better. So much better. Skin to skin contact is incredible. He lets his right arm slide around Steve’s waist, palm pressed up against his shoulder blades. 

Skin to skin contact _is_ incredible. When Bucky’s hand presses between Steve’s shoulders it’s like he’s hit Steve with a bolt of lightning. He gives a single, hard, involuntary shudder, heat spreading from where Bucky’s touching him up to the top of his head and down to the tips of his fingers and toes. Steve almost lets out a sound of his own, biting it back at the last second, not sure why the hell he suddenly feels like he’s lost control, but reining himself back in desperately. This isn’t Bucky trying to have sex. This is Bucky trying to get through a heat, and he needs Steve, and he needs Steve to keep himself together for more than a few fucking minutes. 

He wraps his arms around Bucky, trying to figure out what it is that’s suddenly got him so riled up. They’ve touched before and everything’s been fine; Steve knows the serum enhanced everything, and that means his libido, too, but he’s always been good at keeping it under wraps, and he isn’t the kind of guy who really needs to scratch that itch on the regular. 

At least… he hadn’t been, on the suppressants. 

But _shit_ , he isn’t on them, and he’d almost forgotten because once he’d found Bucky again, gotten him stabilized in the tower… well, if they’d been suffering from AOSD, it had faded as soon as they’d found each other. He’s been fine all week. Even the things he’d worried about, Bucky had mostly told him were just _Steve_ things. Not alpha things. Certainly not rut things. 

But Bucky’s an omega. He’s _Steve’s_ omega, bonded or not, and he is in heat. And Steve suddenly groans quietly to himself, even as he smooths both hands now up and down Bucky’s back, telling himself to keep a lid on it. Whatever this is doing to Steve, he’s got to keep it under wraps. Maybe it’s not a rut. Maybe it’s just that his omega wanting to press so close is just… it’s hot. It’s appealing. Of course he likes it. But this is about Bucky, not Steve, and Steve presses his nose into Bucky’s hair, snuffling softly and trying to find that place Bucky usually sends him to, calm and soothing and sleepy. He could use some of that right about now. 

Bucky felt Steve shudder against him, and a flicker of worry shoots through him even if he has a hard time focusing on it. Especially when Steve’s huge hands are moving up and down his spine now, and he can feel the achiness ebbing out of him slowly. Enough that he feels his eyelids growing heavy again until he has no choice but to close them, murmuring against Steve’s collarbone. “Love you,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his skin, instinctively, pressing his forehead into Steve’s chest as he shifts, sliding a leg between Steve’s. 

He lets out a noise of approval when Steve moves suddenly, turning them so Bucky’s on his back again, and Steve’s draped over him like a blanket, though most of his weight is still on his own side so he doesn’t crush Bucky. All he can smell is Steve. All he can _feel_ is Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve. His alpha. 

His home. He lifts his hand to tangle in Steve’s hair lazily and that’s how he falls back to sleep, surrounded entirely by the only person he trusts body and soul. 

Steve maybe panicked a little, when Bucky slid a leg between his. But it had seemed like distracting him was the right thing to do; once they’re both lying on the mattress again, Bucky seems to go fully calm and limp, fingers buried in Steve’s short hair and Steve’s fingers stroking over Bucky’s side, doing his best to touch as much of him without actually moving or trying to get more touch for himself. He can sense the moment Bucky drops off; he expects his own body to finally relax after that and even if he doesn’t fall asleep again, maybe he can get a little peace from his racing thoughts. 

But that isn’t what happens. Instead of relaxing, Steve’s body just keeps ramping up. His pulse is pounding, his breath coming in ragged little puffs that just ruffle Bucky’s hair. His fingers eventually stop moving, curling into Bucky’s side as Steve holds every inch of his body so, so still, because he feels like the slightest movement might set off something precarious inside him. His skin grows hot and sticky, his eyes blown even as, an hour or two later (he doesn’t know how long it’s been, hasn’t dared to move a muscle), the first hints of dawn start coloring the sky outside the window. With every passing moment, Steve feels more and more amped up, every inch of him where Bucky’s touching feels itchy, like it’s just not _enough_. If this is even half of what Bucky felt, Steve gets his desperate, pained whimpers. But touching Bucky isn’t really helping. It’s making it _worse_. So much worse, and so much harder. 

God, he _aches_ with something that isn’t physical, with something that won’t let him rest. 

By the time the sun is fully up, Steve’s in full-blown rut, and lying here with Bucky is both a balm and like rubbing salt into an open sore at the same time. 

Bucky sleeps soundly, cocooned beneath Steve’s warm body, and his first thought is that it’s almost odd how comforting it is to wake up and be practically unable to move. His brain feels a lot less fuzzy than before, and he’s hungry _and_ thirsty, but he’s distracted from all of those sensations by something else. It takes him a moment to place the sound, but when he does, he pries his eyelids open to look up at Steve worriedly, because now it’s Steve’s breathing that’s ragged, sounding pained even if it’s the only sound he’s making at all. 

It’s Steve’s skin that’s too warm to the touch, even warmer than usual, his hairline damp with sweat. 

He slides gentle fingers through his hair, both to let him know that he’s awake and in an attempt to soothe him. “Steve?” His voice is sleep-filled and hushed. 

Steve’s so wrapped up in his own head, in trying to just get from one second to the next, that he doesn’t realize Bucky’s awake until he lifts a hand to Steve’s head and touches his hair. His whole body jerks, flinches first toward Bucky -- and then immediately away, and he lets out a sound that’s both guilt and need intermixed, as that heat floods him from head to toe again. 

“Buck --” he starts, scrambling to sit up, looking horrified, looking desperate, and looking guilty. He closes his eyes for a moment, breathes in sharply through his nose -- well, shit, that doesn’t help, because he mostly just smells Bucky, and his body _wants_ Bucky, and that’s not okay. He blows the air out through his mouth, tries to breathe that way instead, but it still feels like he can’t really catch his breath. 

Steve’s up and away so fast that Bucky’s chest tightens painfully, eyes widening a little, truly startled. He blinks a few times, taking a slow, deep breath and trying to push down the honest-to-God _whine_ that’s trying to escape his lips at the abrupt loss of contact. He struggles for a moment, but manages to sit up, staring at Steve’s back that’s now facing him. He wants to reach out and touch him, wants to plaster himself up against him, but Steve apparently needs some breathing room, so he doesn’t touch him. 

Steve, for his part, squeezes his eyes shut harder, even as he asks, “How’re you feeling? Any better?” 

He knows it won’t be over yet. In a healthy omega, heats usually last a good day or two. Steve… isn’t sure he can last days, but by God, he will try. He just -- he was startled. He needs to get ahold of himself. 

Maybe take a cold shower, if Bucky can be away from him for that long. 

Steve’s voice is strained when he asks Bucky how he’s feeling, and Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. Better,” he murmurs, trying to put the pieces together like a puzzle in his brain. “Are you all right?” He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, raking a hand through his hair. He knows the overall feeling of contentment isn’t going to last for long, if memory serves him correctly. And he doesn’t know why he’s in heat at all, considering his pills. He hadn’t stopped taking them. 

… But Steve had stopped taking his. He holds his breath at that, takes in the tension in Steve’s shoulders, his refusal to look at Bucky. The way he’s shaking just a little. The way his skin is heated and sweaty. The shaky breathing. He swallows hard. His heat’s caused Steve to go into rut in response. Because that’s how the species continues, unless the omega involved happens to have X and Y chromosomes. 

“Steve,” he whispers. This time he does reach out, lets his hand rest lightly on Steve’s back. “It’s okay.” 

The touch burns like a brand -- and Steve wants to lean back into it, let it set him on fire. _Fuck_ , but this is so much worse than that time with Peggy, and Steve had thought that was bad. And -- okay, it was, but it’s like a candle next to the bonfire he’s feeling now, probably because he’d had at least _some_ suppressants in his bloodstream at the time, and Peggy had been an Alpha, to boot. He’d still wanted her, still felt desperate and utterly wrecked, but this is different. This is so much more, and he hunches in on himself instead, shaking his head and knowing how it’s going to look. “No, it’s --”

He takes another shuddering breath. “I just need -- I just need a few more minutes. I won’t -- I would never -- I can calm down,” he promises, then lets out a weak little laugh. “I just need a cold shower. I’m sorry. Can you,” he stops himself, takes another few breaths. “Will you be okay for a few minutes? I’ll be fast. And then I’ll be fine.” 

That’s a lie. It’s a horrible, terrible lie, but he will _make_ himself okay, so he can get Bucky through this. 

Bucky holds his breath again, but this time he moves, shifting so that he’s right behind Steve, shifting so that his legs straddle his hips, press against his legs as they dangle over the edge of the bed. “You won’t be,” he murmurs. “You’re in rut.” It’s not a question. Ruts don’t just go away because you want them to, any more than heats do. That Steve seems to think _Bucky_ would believe Steve capable of hurting him hurts Bucky’s heart. 

He slides his arm around Steve’s waist from behind, resting his forehead against his shoulder blade and then pressing a tender kiss there. “Cold shower isn’t going to help, Soldier.” 

Steve honest-to-God moans when Bucky’s lips touch his shoulder, the muscle shifting under the skin there as he rolls his head to the side, trying desperately to give Bucky more skin to access, as if he weren’t already shirtless. 

Bucky can’t help the shiver that rushes down his spine at the sound of Steve’s moan and he presses his hand up and over Steve’s heart. 

Steve’s hands tighten into fists at his sides, even as his body arches, ever so slightly, back into Bucky’s behind him. “I don’t want to be in rut,” he says, a little helplessly, knowing he sounds like a petulant child, but it’s true. Now isn’t the time, he wants to be here for Bucky, going through his first awful heat, and instead Bucky is trying to comfort Steve, and it’s all backwards and messed up. “I wanna be here for you.” 

One of his hands, almost of its own accord, unclenches and settles on the outside of Bucky’s thigh, sliding down toward his knee. “I know you don’t want -- rut’s different. You just want to be touched, and I want to give you that without it being --” he cuts himself off with an embarrassed noise. It’s not like he can’t control himself. He can. He’s just gonna be thinking about it the whole time, and that also doesn’t seem fair. 

Bucky smiles at Steve’s words that he doesn’t want to be in rut, but he presses another light kiss to his skin, this time to the back of his neck. It’s too bad they don’t get a choice when it comes to the kinds of issues their biology brings about. 

They’ve shared a bed so many times now that it’s routine. Comfortable. Safe. They’ve kissed a few times, even made out, but other than the near-constant touching, they haven’t made it far beyond that. “I wanna be here for you, too,” he says honestly, pressing his face against Steve’s heated skin. “And for your information, pal. I _do_ want.” He licks his lips. “We can help each other out here, Steve. There’s zero reason not to.” 

The more Bucky touches him, the more Steve’s resolve crumbles. If Bucky didn’t want anything to do with him right now, he’d get up and go, right? Steve’s utterly torn between wanting to press into Bucky’s hand at his front and lean into the press of his cheek at his back. It feels _so_ good, for his omega to touch him, for heated skin to slide over heated skin, and Steve’s hands ache now, wanting to reach back and run over Bucky, give him just as much touch, make it just as good. 

“Are you sure?” he breathes, because he just has to check, this one last time. He doesn’t know how long it might have taken them to get to this point otherwise, but maybe it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like being forced into things, but with Bucky, it’s just so easy. It’s so easy to fall into him and over him and want to get so close they’ll never separate again. Steve just wants it in a much more carnal sense than he usually does. “Just -- you actually want to…?” 

The idea that Bucky does, that Bucky wants him… it feels new, even if it’s not. And it feels _amazing_. 

That Steve’s in rut and still checking in to make sure Bucky is okay with helping him through it is new for him. He knows Steve doesn’t _expect_ it the way a lot of alphas would. If anything, that only makes him want to do this more. He kisses the back of Steve’s neck, letting his lips linger there. And when he answers, his voice is threaded with desire. With need. 

“ _Steve._ I’ve wanted to since the day we met,” he admits with a huff of laughter, self-conscious. “I just didn’t want us to rush into anything. But… I don’t feel like we’re rushing.” He doesn’t feel like what they have is solely built on physical attraction. Far from it. His arm tightens around Steve’s chest a little. “I want to.” 

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, feeling a little blindsided, but in the best kind of way. After all, it’s not like _he_ hasn’t thought Bucky was attractive since the first time they’d met, but, “I didn’t want to rush, either,” he admits, although he also has to admit, “I don’t -- have a lot of experience.” Just to give Bucky fair warning. It’s not that Steve has _no_ experience, because he does, it’s just all with a female alpha, and he knows people can’t be all that different, but it’s going to be at least a little different. He will absolutely try his best, though. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky assures him, voice soft at Steve’s admission that he doesn’t have much experience. It’s not something he’s worried about, or even spent too much time dwelling on. He knows Steve had a life long before he’d ever come into the picture, but he also knows Steve’s life hasn’t been easy by any means. He hadn’t let himself make any real assumptions either way. 

If Bucky wants this and Steve wants this and it’s really okay -- then hell, he’s not going to try to resist it any longer. His shoulders slump and he lets out a shaky breath, loathe to turn away from the touch of Bucky’s lips on the back of his neck (he really likes that -- really, really likes that) but he wants to show Bucky how grateful he is, wants to make sure Bucky’s as comfortable and comforted as Steve. So he twists a little, trying to turn around and face Bucky without sliding out of the bracket of his legs. His hands slide up to cup Bucky’s face, as he grins a little -- lopsided, overwhelmed, and eyes definitely dark, pupils blown. “Please -- can I touch you, first?” 

When Steve cups his cheek, asks if he can touch him first, a soft noise escapes Bucky and he nods, his own eyes darker than usual. “You can touch me any way you want, Steve,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him. It’s not something he’s ever said to anyone else, mostly because he’s never been this comfortable with anyone else, even when it came to sex. Especially when it came to sex. But Steve is different. Steve is the best man he’s ever known, someone who’s shown him more love and care than anyone else ever has. And he’s okay giving him carte blanche because he trusts him. 

That permission feels warm, just like the warmth spreading through Steve, the closer he lets himself drift to Bucky. “You, too,” he insists, pulling away from Bucky’s lips just enough to murmur the words -- followed by the promise that, “I’m a fast learner.” And then he’s chasing Bucky’s lips just like he always does, sitting back on his haunches a little and letting his hands drift down the sides of Bucky’s face, down his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his sides. He remembers that touching him with both hands, with long, slow strokes over his back had helped, and he does that again now, palms skimming over Bucky’s skin, because heats might be romanticized in the movies but Steve does know, despite how taboo they always were to talk about, that they’re pretty awful if you have to spend them alone. If you don’t get the touching you want. Even his own, weak heats had definitely left him with that much. 

And that’s why he wants to touch Bucky now, so he isn’t left wanting, to prove that Steve will help him through this, as much as Bucky says he’ll help Steve. 

Bucky smiles against Steve’s mouth, nodding, because he knows that about Steve, knows how damned smart he is, knows how quickly he picks up on things, and he doubts this will be any different. And they’ll have plenty of time to practice in the next couple of days, considering how long heats and ruts last. Combined with the fact they’re supposed to be lying low anyway, he’s not sure there’s a better way to spend their time than getting to know each other like this. 

He shivers as Steve’s hands start stroking his skin, eyes fluttering closed as his heart thuds against his ribs, their lips meeting and parting, slow and sensual.

The thing is, even as Steve’s touching Bucky everywhere he can reach, there’s this little voice in his head that sounds like Rumlow, boasting about how good Bucky was at sucking dick, and Steve has never done it before in his life, but he figures Rumlow probably never did it for Bucky, and that is not how he wants this to go. So his hands start dipping lower -- slowly, taking his time as much as he can, before he mumbles against Bucky’s mouth, “Want a suckjob?” 

The question is unexpected and Bucky’s breath catches in his throat, because that’s -- unconventional, to say the least. Brock hadn’t been the first who’d told him that it was an omega’s job to do _that_. It’s something he’s heard his entire life even if he’d mostly ignored it because it hadn’t mattered, as a beta. The idea of an alpha returning the favor would be laughed about in most circles. 

Bucky and Steve aren’t most circles. Everything about both of them is the very definition of unconventional to begin with so -- “You sure? You don’t have to do that if you don’t wanna.” 

Steve doesn’t care what it’s traditional for alphas or omegas to do. He wants to make this good for Bucky, and he wants to prove that there isn’t a cell in his body like Brock. He knows Bucky knows that, maybe even better than Steve, but it still seems important. That, and when Bucky asks if he’s sure, Steve doesn’t even need a second to evaluate how he’s feeling and answer with, “Yeah. I really wanna.” 

He does. He doesn’t know why, because he doesn’t know what it’s like from the giving end. Or the receiving end, actually -- Peggy had been unconventional, too, but she hadn’t quite been _that_ unconventional, at least not during the one time, probably because all Steve had really needed was her hand to shoot off like a rocket. But right now, he wants to do this for Bucky. It must be good. The idea of it sounds good to him, just like the idea of getting his mouth on Bucky sounds good. 

So he shifts back a little, slowly lowering one foot to the bedroom floor, then the other, sinking down onto his knees at the same time he gets both hands on Bucky’s hips and tugs gently, trying to get him to scoot a little closer to the edge of the bed. He knows he’ll probably have to move to get Bucky’s pants off, but he’ll worry about that in a minute. 

The way Steve answers so quickly, without any hesitation, makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat and he licks his lips, watching as he kneels down on the floor. He lets Steve tug him toward the edge of the bed, groaning and sinking his fingers into Steve’s hair as the other trails his mouth and tongue down to his chest, making him shudder.

“Think you can talk me through what you like and don’t like?” Steve asks, glancing up. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Bucky replies. Assuming he’s even capable of speech at that point, anyway. No one’s ever done that for him, even when he’d been a beta. There had been a woman once, who’d offered, but he knew she was nervous and the two of them had just ended up making out for a while instead. 

“And if you change your mind at any point, it’s okay,” he adds, while he still _can_ think. He never wants Steve to do anything he doesn’t want to do, even if it means changing his mind halfway into something. 

Steve licks his lips, glancing up at Bucky with that same lopsided, eager smile. “Yeah, changing my mind’s not my strong point,” he says, thumbs brushing over the jut of Bucky’s hipbones just above the soft waistband of his sleep pants. But all teasing aside, he adds, “I will, though. I’ll tell you. But I really don’t think I’m gonna.” 

Down here, so close to Bucky, he can smell _Bucky_ every time he takes a breath. He shuffles himself a little closer to the edge of the bed and works on what he hopes is working Bucky up, nosing into the skin of his stomach just over his waistband, pressing open-mouthed kisses there as his hands flatten against Bucky’s lower back again, then slide down his thighs, over the fabric of his pants. “Gonna need to pull these down,” he warns, glancing up again, before his fingers slide back up to curl in the waistband and start tugging gently, one hand slipping under Bucky’s other leg to help lift him up from the mattress a little without making Bucky actually stand up to take them off. “All the way?” he asks, as he starts tugging, because he’ll leave them around Bucky’s knees or ankles if he wants, but that might make him feel trapped. 

Bucky’s not used to this much conversation, or any at all, really, right before or during sex. At least not conversation he’s expected to participate in. Brock liked to talk, all right, but he’d definitely preferred Bucky’s silence. “All the way’s fine,” he agrees, stroking his fingers lightly through Steve’s hair because he wants to touch him, too. Wants to make him feel good, and he’s not sure that Steve _giving_ him a blowjob will do much to help his rut. Idly he thinks that’s probably why it’s unconventional for an alpha to do that for an omega and not the other way around. 

Steve has no idea what Bucky likes or wants, in heat or out of it. And he figures while he could try to read Bucky’s reactions, the only way to be sure is to ask. And he wants to ask. He wants to know. And he figures he’d better ask now, while he still can, in case he gets distracted later.   
“I can make us even, if you want,” he adds. He’s feeling eager and nervous and excited all at once, wanting to dive right in without worrying about his own pants. But if that would make Bucky uncomfortable, too, then Steve will take his off, too.

“You don’t have to yet. Might wanna undress you myself,” Bucky tells him, not really kidding. He shivers at the feel of Steve’s lips against his stomach. His body’s definitely one hundred percent on board with everything that’s happening, sweat beading on his forehead and between his shoulder blades, dick hard in his pants that Steve is making quick work of divesting as Bucky lifts his hips to help him do just that. The air feels cool to his suddenly bare skin and for a moment he closes his eyes, holding his breath. 

Steve’s fingers fumble as Bucky slides a hand into his hair and it sets off a whole new line of sparks down his spine to pool right below his stomach. He’s been hard almost for two hours straight now, but it’s more of a dull ache with his attention elsewhere, and it is most definitely elsewhere, right on Bucky’s skin and every inch of it that’s revealed as they work together to get his pants off and tossed behind Steve on the floor. “‘Kay,” he says, almost forgetting what he’s agreeing to -- letting Bucky undress him later -- as he’s faced with all of Bucky, every inch of him beautiful and uncovered for Steve to see. 

His eyes flick back up to Bucky’s face, leaning close both to get a little more contact for himself, even if it’s just Bucky’s knees and shins pressing into Steve’s shoulders and chest, and to nudge his nose against the hard length right in front of his face, before his tongue darts up to give it a slow, tentative lick. It tastes a little like -- well, like Bucky, like his mouth tastes, like the way his skin tastes and smells, with something deeper underneath it. But Steve likes it, wants to coat himself in that smell and that taste, and wants to get more of his mouth on him, if Bucky’s amenable.

Bucky gasps, fingers tightening in Steve’s hair involuntarily at the feel of his tongue against his length, sparks of pleasure making every inch of his skin light up like fireworks. Realizing how tightly he’s grasped onto Steve, he quickly loosens his grip, stroking his scalp gently in silent apology. He forces himself to take a couple of slow, deep breaths before he opens his eyes to look at Steve, pupils blown wide. 

Steve hums, shifting so he can push back a little into Bucky’s hands. “You can pull it,” he says, because that sharp little shock had felt _good_ , had felt like Bucky _needed_ him, and that, more than anything helps calm the fire of his rut a little. “Not gonna hurt me.” 

If Bucky’s not reading Steve _wrong_ , he’s indicating maybe he likes to have his hair pulled a little. He can oblige that, trusting Steve to tell him what does or doesn’t feel good the same way he will. Having an open, honest relationship with someone who actually cares about you makes all the difference in the world. 

“Think I understand why people like this so much,” Bucky jokes breathlessly, already planning to return the favor. It’s never been his favorite thing, but he thinks -- no. He’s sure it’s going to be different with Steve, the same way everything else has been different with Steve. 

Steve’s lips curve upward at that admission, because hearing Bucky likes it so far? That _also_ helps slake the fire of his own need. He doesn’t care if Bucky reciprocates, not that he would turn it down, but right now, this is what he wants to concentrate on, to be good at, and he leans in to give Bucky’s dick another few long, slow licks, tasting every inch before he leans in -- and has to move one hand to wrap around the base as he presses his lips to the head, letting the first few inches sit in his mouth, testing the feel and the taste and whether Bucky likes that, too, or if it’s not right. 

The little smile that Steve gives Bucky is reassuring as much as it is arousing, and then his head drops backwards onto the mattress when Steve slides his mouth over his length, a low groan breaking free. He grips onto Steve’s hair more tightly again, but he doesn’t tug, remembers how unpleasant it is when someone forces you down farther than you’re ready for. There’s no rush here, no need to be rough or forceful, and it’s not really in his nature anyway. His thighs are tight with tension where they rest on Steve’s shoulders and his entire body feels like it’s on _fire._. 

Steve definitely doesn’t mind if Bucky pulls his hair; in fact, he kind of likes it, and can think of a lot of other things he’d like, to boot. But right now, he doesn’t want to ask anything of Bucky -- he wants to give him everything he can, let him feel good and get as much touch as Steve can manage. He slides his free hand up Bucky’s leg, over his side, trying to keep up some of that touch, in case just the one point of contact isn’t enough. But admittedly, most of his attention is on Bucky’s taste in his mouth, how he feels as Steve takes in a breath through his nose and slides a little further down, feeling a little awkward, but turned on and eager enough that it’s easily ignored. Especially as his gaze flicks up and he can see all of Bucky’s body there, laid out in front of him and God, he wants more -- 

He slides up further, maybe a little too fast, and has to pull back a little as the head of Bucky’s cock almost bumps the back of his throat. He slides off for a second, taking a breath with a little embarrassed laugh, but dives right back in as soon as he feels comfortable again, taking his time, seeing how much of Bucky he can take before he needs to bob back, and then forward again. That’s… how you do this, he’s pretty sure. It’s at least the basic idea. 

Bucky whimpers involuntarily when Steve swallows him almost all the way down like that, panting for breath and struggling to keep himself still so he doesn’t accidentally choke the other man. “Steve. _Steve_.” His voice is strained and oh god, he’s not going to last long like this. He definitely understands the appeal of this more than he had on the other side of things. It’s not just Steve’s mouth that has Bucky overwhelmed, either -- it’s the fact that his hand is sliding up and down his body, too, leaving sparks of pleasure on every inch of skin he touches. 

He sinks his teeth into his lip, his entire body flushed head to toe with pink, with _heat_ , but it’s the kind of heat that comes from pleasure rather than fever. And there is definitely a difference. His eyes are no longer glassy the way they had been in the middle of the night, and his shaking has nothing to do with the chills. “Steve, I’m close,” he warns, tugging gently at his hair, because it’s nice to have a warning. 

Bucky’s voice does give him pause, but just to make sure he’s not telling Steve to stop. When that doesn’t seem to be the case, Steve just hums around Bucky in his mouth and keeps going, starting to maybe feel a little more comfortable, even if there’s still a lot about this he hadn’t expected: the way Bucky stretches his mouth, the weight and the solidity of him, the way it makes Steve squirm, wishing he maybe had a third hand to put on himself for a little relief. But the last thing he can just keep ignoring, especially when Bucky speaks, tugging at his hair like that and Steve hums again, letting Bucky know he heard him. That he understands Bucky must want to be pushed over the edge -- 

Well. It’s called a suckjob for a reason, right? Steve takes a breath through his nose, then blows it out and actually tries to suck a little, not sure if he should do it on the up- or downstroke, fumbling a little as he tries to figure out the best sequence of sliding back and forth, sucking, and breathing through his nose when he can. The rhythm gets a little more fumbling, but he tries to make up for it by going faster, sucking harder, pushing Bucky further toward the back of his throat, to the very limit before he’d start coughing. He pushes up a little onto his knees, hand reaching up to brush over Bucky’s pec, sliding over his shoulder and down his free arm to try and lace their fingers together. It is a lot to do at once, and he’s certainly inexpert and sloppy thanks to the dizzying want and desperate need to please coursing through him, but Steve is, at least, very good at multitasking. 

The increased pressure around his hardness is all it takes before Bucky feels like he’s coming apart at the seams, fingers digging harder into Steve’s hair as he cries out his name, climax hitting hard and fast. God, it’s been so long since he’s actually enjoyed sex that he’d almost forgotten what it’s like. His body trembles, left hand curling around Steve’s as much as he can make it. “Oh Steve,” he whispers, eyes rolling back in his head before they drift shut. 

The sound of his name on Bucky’s lips like _that_ is almost enough to make Steve’s eyes roll back; it feels like a physical thing, like more heat spreading over his skin, just as Bucky’s fingers pull his hair hard -- Steve groans, loving the feel of it -- and his hips jerk a little and he comes. Steve is mostly ready for it -- or, at least, ready for the idea of it -- though he ends up a little surprised and has to pull back a bit, sliding down the shaft as he swallows thickly a couple of times, pulling off entirely as soon as he feels Bucky start to relax back into the bed. 

“Holy shit.” Bucky feels boneless, a limp ragdoll on the bed, pleasure still rolling through him in little sparks. He licks his lips, rubbing the other man’s scalp gently to make up for how hard he’d tugged moments before. 

Steve’s own chest is heaving as he pulls his hand carefully away from Bucky’s cock and slides it up his stomach instead, eyes bright as he watches Bucky’s face intently, leaning absently into the gentler touches to his head. “Was that good?” he asks, a little breathless, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and yeah, he partly means it, but he’s partly being a little shit right now, because he can read a room. Definitely this room.

A faint huff of laughter escapes Bucky and even though he knows Steve is mostly kidding, he can’t help but sense a little bit of underlying self-consciousness there, too. “Christ, Steve,” he whispers, stupid grin on his face. “It was incredible.” He props himself up on his elbows the best that he can, wanting to see him better. 

Steve’s not fishing for compliments; he genuinely wants to know if it was good, so when he gets an answer in the affirmative, he veritably glows with relief, smile a little sloppy and stupid. He wants to take care of Bucky, almost more than he wants to be taken care of, himself. 

A moment later, Bucky reaches out with his right hand. “Come up here with me,” he urges Steve, wanting to feel him closer, wanting to make him feel good, too. He’s a little overwhelmed by the amount of love he feels for Steve, like it’s shoved away every other thought and feeling in his entire being, carved out every inch of space in his body to make room for it and he’s _okay_ with it. More than okay with it. 

There’s nothing in the world that could keep Steve from doing just what Bucky asked. He climbs up onto the bed, almost immediately flinging himself down over Bucky, pressed up against his side again and draped over him with half his body like a blanket. It definitely traps his erection, sticking to the inside of his underwear and sleep pants, right up between them, but unlike before Bucky had woken up, Steve doesn’t try to move to make sure he can’t feel it. He just lets out a soft gasp at the small bit of relief and tries to get his mouth on Bucky’s for an eager kiss. He won’t ask Bucky to do anything until he’s ready, and he won’t ask Bucky for anything he’s not willing to give. He can wait. If Bucky needs some time to relax and just be touched, Steve wants to give that to him. 

Bucky leans up without reservation, kissing him back just as eagerly. He slides his hand up Steve’s neck to rest there as he shifts onto his side so they’re facing each other. His skin feels like it’s _singing_ with the joy he feels at how close they are. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, brushing his nose over Steve’s even as his fingers trail over the soulmark hidden beneath Steve’s hairline. 

Steve makes a desperate sound as Bucky’s fingers brush the mark -- it feels intimate, more intimate than what he just did, and he fumbles a hand up, trying to find the matching mark just behind Bucky’s ear and touch it, give that feeling right back. 

Bucky moans quietly in response to both the noise Steve makes and at the touch to his own soul mark, shivering against him and pressing a kiss against his neck. Then he presses another kiss against Steve’s mouth before pulling back to look at him, searching his eyes. “How do you feel? Was that -- okay? For you too?” 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, feeling like he can barely get enough air in his lungs to form anything louder than a whisper. “Yeah, it was okay. Really okay.” He blinks a few times, lips still stretched into that sloppy grin. “I like making you feel good. Feels good to me, too.” 

And it’s true. He’s still worked up and desperate, but being able to touch Bucky, being able to make him make those noises, have those reactions, seeing him enjoy himself, it all feels like a drug. The best drug. It satisfies some other part inside him, and to know that Bucky is glad it’s him is like nothing he could describe. 

Bucky moves his hand to rest against Steve’s chest momentarily, long enough so that he can push Steve onto his back, dropping kisses against his bare skin as he swings his leg over his hips, straddling him. “Tell me if I do anything that you don’t like or aren’t sure about,” he tells him. “I’ll stop, I promise.” Bucky wants to know what _Steve_ likes, what makes him feel good. 

Steve goes pretty easily with Bucky’s prompting, shifting over onto his back and feeling heat slide through him again as Bucky crawls over him. “Yeah, sure,” he says absently, although he’s honestly not sure Bucky could do anything that Steve would want to stop. Not now, not ever, when all he wants is Bucky to touch him, Bucky pressed up against him, however he can get it. 

Bucky trails kisses down Steve’s chest and abs, lingering there for a few moments, tasting his skin, feeling the firm muscles beneath his hand as he balances carefully on his knees and right side. He reaches for the sleep pants that Steve’s wearing, rubbing his erection through the cloth and letting his gaze dart up to look at him. 

Bucky sitting over him like this feels like a dirty dream come true. And Steve _definitely_ doesn’t want Bucky to stop, now that he’s workedhis way down to the part of Steve that wants to be touched the most. He gasps softly, arching desperately into the warm touch of Bucky’s hand, even through the loose pants. He’s been aching there for so long now, all he can do is plead: “Please, don’t stop doing that.” His fingers fumble to touch any part of Bucky he can reach, landing most easily on his hips, curling against the warm skin there. He doesn’t care if that’s all Bucky wants to do, as long as he doesn’t stop. 

Bucky’s gaze softens at the pleading and he presses a kiss above his belly button. “Not gonna stop, Soldier. I got you,” he murmurs. He’s not about to make Steve wait any longer than he already has. Not when he’d taken care of Bucky already, which is -- still something he’s probably going to be dwelling on for days to come. He bites his lower lip and then tugs at the waistband of Steve’s pants. “Lift up for me?” His voice is soft. 

He wants to get Steve undressed now, too, not to make them equal, but to make it easier to touch and taste and kiss. 

“Yeah, okay,” Steve breathes, not sure if he’s answering the first part or the second part -- or both. It doesn’t matter; he does as Bucky asks, arching his hips up a little, trying to strike a balance between not making Bucky overbalance and giving him enough space to pull the pants down as far as he wants to. His hands slide up Bucky’s sides, smoothing over his ribs, his shoulders up into his hair, tangling there carefully for a minute, before he adds, “If I’m not touching you enough -- tell me?” He doesn’t know if Bucky feels the same way he does, if the heat is less bad when his attention is focused on doing this for Steve. But if it’s not, then he wants to do his part, because Steve has never been all that good at just lying down and taking it, when he could be doing something, too. 

“I will,” Bucky promises, leaning down to steal a quick kiss before he tugs the pants off Steve’s legs entirely and tosses them somewhere over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t hesitate to sit back on his feet to give him better leverage as he wraps his right hand gently around Steve’s length. He gives him a couple of light, casual pumps, brushing his thumb over the tip. He groans at the feel of Steve’s hands trailing over his bare skin, trying not to marvel at how much bigger Steve is than he’s used to. He feels a spark of worry, but also excitement as he strokes him.

Steve lets out a garbled noise that is nothing but good as Bucky’s fingers wrap around him and the feeling of desperate relief is almost overwhelming for a moment, of _finally_ being touched by the person he wants to touch him most, and not having to feel guilty about it. 

And honestly, that would be enough to do him in right there, if Bucky kept at it, and Steve’s hips are already trying to twitch into Bucky’s grasp a little better when Steve senses Bucky shifting back again, and blinks open his eyes just in time to see -- 

Bucky shifts back farther and leans down to press a kiss to his erection, tongue darting out for a taste. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve breathes, as he watches and _feels_ the press of Bucky’s lips simultaneously, as the smooth underside of his tongue touches Steve where he’s most sensitive, and he could cry from how good it feels -- how good it is, and how much more he wants, as his hands tighten for a moment in Bucky’s hair, then pull away, because he knows his grip can be a lot stronger, and that’s something he’d worried about with Peggy, too -- and she’d never done _this_ for him. Bucky looks _amazing_ crouched over Steve’s legs like that, but the most Steve can really manage, to tell him so, is a desperate nod and a soft, needy sound. 

Bucky has little doubt that he could bring Steve off with a simple handjob. But it’s not what he wants. It’s not what he _deserves_. Not by far. And he’s never liked doing things halfway, and he’s not about to start with _Steve._

“Feels good, right?” he murmurs, kissing the tip and letting his tongue circle around it briefly before he takes a slow breath and then lowers his mouth to take in his length, using his tongue to run alongside the vein beneath the shaft. He pulls back with a wet popping sound, licking his lips and looking down at Steve with a smile, bright and pleased at the noises he’s making, at the pleasure all over his face. 

Steve nods desperately, finally somehow managing to form the word, “Yeah,” in a breathy exhale, fingers digging into Bucky’s sides for a moment before he again tries to loosen his grip a little, because the last thing he wants is to bruise Bucky. 

Bucky just gives him a couple more strokes before letting his mouth descend once more, drawing him in farther this time. Not all the way. He’s not even sure he can take him all the way. 

He gently squeezes the base of Steve’s cock as he works his mouth back and forth over the length, bracing himself against Steve’s thighs before he swallows, choking momentarily but not pulling off. 

Bucky is… holy shit, Bucky is doing things Steve hadn’t even thought about doing, and the tiny part of him that isn’t awash in the amazing new sensations is already cataloging every amazing detail so that he can hopefully try to reproduce it later for Bucky, and make the next time even better. It’s a good thing he’s got an eidetic memory, he figures, because even the parts he can’t do anything but _feel_ right now, he’ll be able to rewind again later (and isn’t that appealing, remembering this over and over again). 

He squirms on the bed a little, doing his best to keep his hips pressed down, curling and uncurling his toes instead as Bucky starts up a rhythm in earnest. Steve does glance down as Bucky pauses for a second, worried -- right up until Bucky keeps going, and whites out his mind again. He realizes, after a moment, that someone is talking -- that it’s him, mumbling Bucky’s name over and over, in between gasps and desperate little noises as every inch of his skin lights up, and he can feel that he won’t last, not like this, not after so long. Not with Bucky’s hand squeezing right where his cock is growing steadily more sensitive, right where he’d knot someone -- Bucky -- if he was inside him, and Steve makes a much more desperate noise, trying to warn Bucky that he’s close -- it had been nice to know, and all he seems to be able to say is Bucky’s name, with ever-more-desperation in his voice. 

Bucky knows Steve’s getting close, both by those desperate noises that he’s making and also by the fact that his hand is gently gripping onto the base of his dick where his knot’s beginning to swell. He laughs quietly, pulling off for just a few seconds to take a breath before diving down once more, struggling to keep his gag reflex from activating when Steve’s length hits the back of his throat. He squeezes the knot gently, well aware of how sensitive it is. 

Even those gentle squeezes feel like just this side of _too much_ , and it’s absolutely perfect. It’s like Bucky knows exactly where and how to touch Steve to send white-hot heat all through his body, to tip him over the edge and let him fall into the rush of pleasure rumbling up with every hum and swallow and squeeze. 

And then Bucky hums quietly, knowing the vibrations will only make it a more pleasurable experience for Steve. He’s relieved that he’s not thrusting up and into his mouth the way a lot of alphas tend to do, the way Brock _always_ had, threatening more than once to knot his _mouth_ like that wouldn’t break his jaw or worse. Tears streak his cheeks as he focuses on increasing the pressure of his mouth and throat, swallowing again and squeezing his hand around the knot just enough, just until he felt Steve tensing even more beneath him. 

_Come for me, Stevie_ , he thinks, looking up at him as he works him over. 

Steve’s hands fall into the sheets and ball into them, not willing to risk hurting Bucky even by accident even as he crests that edge and comes, hard, like he’s been waiting for it forever, like his body’s been ready for it since Bucky woke up in the middle of the night burning with fever. 

It feels like a long, long time before his body starts to relax, before Steve comes back to himself, panting and sweating and prying his fingers out of the sheets to try and reach for Bucky, to brush fingers over his temple as he blinks his eyes, trying to clear his vision to make sure he hadn’t done something stupid even as the hot pressure of Bucky’s hand around the knot at the base of his cock is sending these aftershocks through him, like he can’t quite come down, like his body’s still on fire with electrical shocks and static and he wants to roll his hips up, but that isn’t what you do when someone’s got your dick in their mouth, and he resists. But in lieu of that, he wants to touch Bucky, wants to hear his voice and wants to pull him back up and wrap around him, press himself close and kiss him for doing that better than Steve could ever have imagined. 

Bucky licks his lips as he pulls up and off of Steve, though he leans down briefly to press a kiss to his abdomen. He’s pleasantly relieved that doing that for Steve is a thousand times better than it had been for anyone else he’s ever been with. Not that there’s been a _lot_ of people. He kisses his way up Steve’s body, covering him with his own and moaning at the full body skin contact. He lifts his head to look at him, cheeks flushed with color and lips swollen. He thinks he probably looks as wrecked as Steve does. 

He meets Steve’s eyes, holding his breath for a minute, dog tags dangling between them. Steve had said he didn’t have much experience, but he’s not entirely sure what he’d meant, if he’d never done this with _anyone_ before, or never done it with another man. He’s not sure that it matters that much, because he’s relatively sure Steve had enjoyed himself. He isn’t _complaining_ , at least, so he’s taking that as a good sign. 

He dips his head and kisses his cheek softly. “Still breathing, Rogers?” he teases. 

“Um,” Steve finally says, mostly because he’s distracted by the _delicious_ way Bucky’s body weight is still pressing down on him, trapping his cock -- and his knot -- between them. His hand drifts down the side of Bucky’s neck to his back, absently mapping out the muscles as he remembers that’s not a real answer. “I think so? You might have to confirm that.” 

But, truthfully, “That was amazing,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed again for a moment as he hooks one ankle around Bucky’s. “Thank you.” 

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Breathing confirmed,” he tells him. He watches Steve’s eyes close momentarily and his expression softens. “You’re very, very welcome.” He means it with every fiber of his being.

Steve’s still hot and bothered, but that had been a practically transcendent experience. His own experience is limited to satisfying one weak rut with Peggy Carter, who’d stayed with him and layed kisses over him and given him her hand when he’d needed it, but they’d had to be careful and everything Steve might have wanted from an omega, Peggy hadn’t found appealing. She’d apologized, and she’d murmured to him about how they’d work out what to do after the war, but they’d never gotten the chance. At least she’d let him hold her, and even just thinking about that, about how much he wants to hold someone, has Steve’s arm tightening around Bucky’s waist for a moment. “It was okay for you?” 

Bucky hums in response to the question. “It was great, Steve.” His skin feels like it’s burning in the best possible way, in a way it never has with anyone else before and he’s not sure if it’s because of his heat, or if it’s because it’s with _Steve_. Truthfully it’s probably a little of both. 

Steve finally gets his eyes to focus; Bucky’s cheeks look a little wet in this light, he thinks, and frowns, reaching up clumsily with his other hand. 

Bucky turns into the touch instinctively, his own eyes drifting shut, nuzzling into his hand and exhaling. He wants to tuck himself against the length of Steve’s body and burrow there, warm and content and pleasantly fuzzy. He turns his head and kisses Steve’s palm, then drops his head down, laying it right over his heart and listening to its reassuring beat. 

That beat is still fast, but it’s gradually slowing, as Steve’s breathing gets deeper and his body settles into buzzing warmth, still pleased to have Bucky’s warm weight over him like a blanket. His fingers brush over Bucky’s face, not wanting a single part of their bodies to be out of contact, even for a second. “How’re you feeling?” Bucky’s skin is still hot, but the sweat is, he thinks, from what they’ve been doing, and not the clammy sweat of fever chills. “I know it’s not over yet,” he says, “but you seem a little better.” 

Steve feels a little better, too, like that was exactly what he needed to calm the roaring fire a little. That fire certainly hasn’t gone out, but it’s at least under control, burning only where he wants it to burn, and not like a wildfire. 

“Much better,” Bucky admits, letting his eyes close momentarily. He knows it won’t last for more than a couple hours at the most if they move apart for long, but he knows Steve’s rut has just begun, too. The likelihood is that they’re going to be spending the better part of the next two or three days together in bed. He’s perfectly okay with that, even if he’s still a tad nervous. Most of his anxieties have subsided, but he knows that to fully satiate a rut for longer than a couple hours, it’s going to require a knot locking them together. And he wants that. It’s just that most of his previous experiences with an alpha in rut hadn’t been the most enjoyable or pleasant. 

He knows Steve is different, believes that with every fiber of his being. It’s why he’d been hopeful enough to pick up a few supplies while they were at the store and stashed them in the nightstand. 

“How are you feeling? Better?” Bucky presses a soft kiss over Steve’s heart before laying his head down there once more. 

Steve takes in a deep breath, holding as long as he can -- honestly, just a few seconds, with the way his heart is pounding a little, still -- and letting it out. “Yeah,” he says, and he means it. “Yeah, better.” 

He knows that if they want to feel better for more than a little while at a time, they’re going to have to do more. But he isn’t going to assume that’s what Bucky wants to do. He got through this before, a little at a time -- maybe it wasn’t the best experience, but he’d had a soulmate by his side and it certainly hadn’t been as bad as he could have imagined. He will do anything Bucky wants, but he also won’t do anything he doesn’t. He’s feeling this out bit by bit, taking it a little at a time, and honestly, even if they just lie here and shake and shiver together… he could live with that, too. Even if he’ll want to make sure that isn’t something Bucky has to go through again, not for one more minute. 

His knot is still blown and his cock half-hard, but the weight of Bucky pressing over him is helping and if he doesn’t move, doesn’t try for any friction, he can ride this out. “D’you wanna sleep again?” he asks, sliding his hand up into Bucky’s hair now, scritching gently, knowing that some people want to sleep after sex, and he couldn’t begrudge Bucky if he’s one of them. “Or are you thirsty? Hungry?” 

A quiet, pleased sound escapes Bucky at the feel of Steve’s hand in his hair. He considers for a moment. He’s a little sleepy, but -- they should probably eat something, considering how many hours it’s been. He knows Steve especially needs food for his metabolism. “Food would be good,” he admits, lifting his head to look at him and shifting a little. He pauses as he feels Steve’s cock, already half-hard again against his thigh. He raises his eyebrows a little. “You need something else first?” he asks, voice tender as he reaches up to stroke his cheek. 

This is out of his realm of experience, but he figures it’s probably another side effect of the super soldier serum from Rebirth. Which means keeping up with Steve is going to be an interesting feat, to say the least. He hopes he’s cut out for the job, but reminds himself that they’re soulmates. Apparently, someone or something thinks he is. 

Steve’s about to agree that food is probably a good idea, when Bucky shifts his body and the friction makes Steve’s eyes flutter a little as he takes a short, sharp breath. He can feel his face heating up as he shakes his head, trying to press a little closer into Bucky’s touch, like maybe he can make him forget about the fact that Steve’s body never quite came down from all that. Peggy had definitely laughed at him (good-naturedly, of course) and told him he was every person’s dream and nightmare, rolled all into one. 

“I can wait,” he breathes, eyes fixed on Bucky’s mouth, instead of his eyes. “It’s gonna… be like that. Don’t feel obligated,” he says, quickly, leaning up to try to capture Bucky’s lips with his own, because it’s sure as hell not Bucky’s fault, and he hates to be demanding when Bucky is in heat and probably needs to eat just as badly as Steve does. 

Bucky thinks the way Steve’s face grows red is incredibly endearing, even if he doesn’t like that he’s clearly embarrassed about his body’s quick refractory period. “Don’t gotta be embarrassed,” he assures him quietly, letting Steve kiss him. He nips, light and playful at Steve’s lower lip before drawing back momentarily to look at him to make sure he’s really okay with taking a food break. 

Something inside Steve curls up, warm and satisfied, at the Bucky’s clearly ready to do more, if Steve can’t wait. It makes Steve wrap both arms around Bucky, pulling him in close, kissing him harder, like he isn’t ready to get out of bed again. The truth is, he can’t express how that simple offer makes him feel -- not with words, so he’ll try with actions. Even if they end up being confusing. 

When Steve draws him back and kisses him more deeply, Bucky’s not sure he knows which answer is the truth, but he makes no effort to pull away. He steadies his right hand lightly on Steve’s chest, shifting a little once more so that Steve’s erection is pressed firmly against his thigh even as they kiss. Their tongues meet in a slow duel and he moans into Steve’s mouth, not at all opposed to forgetting about food for a few more minutes. 

Steve isn’t sure whether Bucky took that kiss, that embrace, as proof that Steve _can’t_ actually wait, but he’s certainly doing his best to keep Steve’s body interested in bed, and Steve is torn between telling him he doesn’t have to do this, and grabbing Bucky’s hips to hold him in place while he grinds his hips between them for a little more relief. That moan goes straight to his gut, and Steve’s body is no longer only half-interested in continuing what they were doing just a minute ago. 

Steve bites at Bucky’s lower lip, arching his hips up and making a quiet, desperate noise. “Just… like, three minutes,” he breathes pressing his nose against Bucky’s cheek so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye as he squirms against Bucky, figuring he can just work himself off like this, no big deal, and Bucky doesn’t even have to do any work. It’s pretty amazing, with the scent of Bucky’s sweat in his nose and the heat of Bucky’s body pressed to his. “Then I’m cooking.” 

Bucky groans when Steve bites his lip, enjoying the light stinging sensation. “‘Kay,” he agrees easily at the request. He rocks his hips downwards, nowhere near tired enough yet to not be an active participant. He drops his lips to press against Steve’s jaw, kissing a trail up his cheek and to his earlobe, biting it lightly even as he rocks their bodies together. Moments later they’re both breathless and Bucky’s pretty sure they’re going to need a stockpile of snacks and water handy before they go much farther. 

He presses a kiss to Steve’s throat before lifting his head to look at him, grinning faintly. “May need you to carry me to the kitchen,” he teases. He likes that the two of them can tease and joke even while they’re like this, that it’s not just serious and intense. That it’s okay for him to talk without worrying that it’ll piss Steve off. 

This time, when Steve’s body relaxes out of it, he feels a deeper, slower sense of satisfaction, his head a little quieter, his skin a little less sensitive. He still doesn’t want to stop kissing or touching Bucky, sliding his face down to press into the place where his neck meets his shoulder, although when Bucky kisses his skin and pulls back, Steve lets him, and pries open his eyes. 

He laughs, still a little self-conscious, but that’s not at all Bucky’s fault. “Oh yeah?” He… likes that idea. He really, really likes that idea, and not just because it means there’ll be more skin on skin contact than walking side by side. “Piggyback or bridal style?” he asks, his own lips stretching into a grin. “Or I could toss you over my shoulder. Give you a better view of my assets.” 

He… hopes that isn’t taking the teasing too far. It just came out of his mouth. 

Bucky had been kidding about having Steve carry him, but -- it’s not without its appeal. A delighted grin spreads across his face when Steve teases him back and he laughs, light and almost giddy, like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. “I could always use a better look at your assets,” he responds with a smirk, giving him a knowing look. He dips his head and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. 

“I think you promised me food,” he says, shifting so he’s sitting up more, straddling Steve’s hips. His eyes are filled with mirth. “So what are you gonna fix, Soldier?” 

“Whatever you want,” Steve breathes, eyes fixed on Bucky’s face like he’s in a trance, hands reaching up to smooth over Bucky’s hips, fingers trailing lightly over his skin. Then Steve realizes that might have been a real question and tries to kickstart his brain into gear. 

“Uh… breakfast? Is it time for breakfast? Or is it lunch?” he asks, craning his head to try to see the clock on the nightstand. He can’t quite see it from here, but he thinks by the way the light is slanting in the windows, it might still be closer to morning than afternoon. “Brunch?” He guesses that’s mostly breakfast food all over again, but they did buy a couple dozen eggs and Steve can cut up some fruit and cheese, try to sneak a few things that aren’t just breakfast in there. 

“Breakfast sounds good,” Bucky agrees, even though he has no idea what time it is. There’s a little bit of light coming in, but he’s not great at guessing anyway, despite that. And they _did_ buy a lot of eggs. “Oh, we could make omelettes,” he suggests, thinking about tossing some cheese and veggies in with the eggs, maybe even some ham. “Lots of protein.” Which is what always helps stem his appetite.

“Yeah, it does,” Steve agrees, suddenly feeling acutely hungry at the idea of omelettes. “Honestly, though. Whatever you want.” He grins a little, although some of it is more fond than teasing. “I want to make you happy.” 

He… means it in a lot of senses. But including right now. 

Bucky’s lips quirk upwards. “You do,” Bucky says. “Steve, you do make me happy.” His voice is low and serious, because he wants to make sure Steve _knows_ that. “I feel like a whole person when I’m with you.” He swallows, dropping his gaze. 

Steve’s momentarily distracted when Bucky takes his last statement seriously -- which is fine. He’d certainly meant it seriously. 

“Oh, Buck,” he breathes, lifting his hands to touch Bucky’s face, cup his jaw gently. “You’re definitely a whole person, all on your own.” He leans forward for a quick kiss, as chaste as he can make it. 

“I am,” Bucky agrees, voice still hushed. He leans into the touch, kisses him back lightly. “And so are you. But I feel like part of me’s missing when we’re apart.” Even when he’d gone to get Starbucks for him and Becca the day before, there had been this ache in his chest, hollow and anxious that haunted him all the way to and from the coffee shop until he’d been back within Steve’s physical proximity. And he knows it could easily just be the AOSD. But he doesn’t think that’s it. Not really. 

“I know how you feel, though,” Steve does add, a moment later. “I feel like… the things I don’t like about myself don’t matter so much, if you don’t think so, you know?” He gets what it’s like to feel better with someone than without. It’s a little new, but he already notices, acutely, when they’re apart. Especially when it’s through force. Maybe it’s just the AOSD… but he really wants to think it’s something more. Something deeper. “Somebody thought we belonged together,” he adds, sliding his hand around to touch the mark behind Bucky’s ear. “I… think so, too.” 

Bucky brushes his thumb over Steve’s lower lip. “Think that’s just a part of the soulmate package,” he says honestly. “We’re gonna miss each other when we’re not together. Like a limb.” 

There’s something about what Bucky says that hits Steve in the middle of his chest, hard, like a blow or a bullet. It’s true, of course. He knows it’s true, with everything in him -- and he can’t help but think of Peggy, knowing it’s the worst possible time, that his mind should be fully here with Bucky, but suddenly he can’t _not_ think about Peggy and how she must have felt for seventy years and he lets out a sound before he’s even realized it, feeling his throat close up and his hand coming to his face like he can cover it up, like he can hide this from Bucky, because it’s not fair. He’s here with Bucky now, and Peggy moved on and -- 

He takes in a shuddering breath, suddenly feeling horribly trapped and closed in, and he pushes at Bucky gently, tries to get him off his lap so he can twist on the bed, so he can get up and -- 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He doesn’t know why or how this came on so fast, when things have been _fine_ up until now. When he knew that Bucky was a new soulmate for a new life, that Peggy didn’t blame him for doing what he did, that she’d been happy, lived a good life, but the idea that he could do it again, leave Bucky behind and wake up in _another_ lifetime somehow has him struggling to breathe, like that night in the pool, and he can’t put Bucky through _that_ again, either. But he doesn’t know what to do to stop it. 

Things are fine one minute, and the next, Steve is pushing at him gently, like he’s suffocating him. Bucky scrambles off him, startled as he watches him stand up and turn away, not sure what he said or did wrong, but knowing it’s _something._ His chest feels tight, but he doesn’t dare get any closer than he already is because right now it seems like space is the thing Steve wants. He struggles to keep down his rising sense of _panic_ , tries not to hear the onslaught of insults that Brock had always tended to sling his way after sex. Tries not to feel like he’s being discarded. He knows that’s not what this is. 

He’s just… not entirely sure _what_ this is. 

“Steve?” he ventures, voice tentative. “I’m sorry.” Sometimes it’s just best to apologize even if you’re not entirely sure what you’re apologizing _for._

“No -- no, it’s --” Steve clenches his teeth, digging the fingers of both hands into his hair, trying to let the sharp pain remind him that he’s here, now, and that he’s not leaving. He doesn’t want to leave. Not that he wanted to before, but he -- 

No. “No, it’s not you,” he says, shaking his head again, eyes squeezed shut even though he’s not even looking in Bucky’s direction, like shutting out more of the world will help. “It’s not you, I -- I did it before. I left my soulmate. I left her to feel like that and I -- what if I --” 

He knows he’s not being rational. He knows, and yet he still can’t stop the panic from bubbling up in his chest. 

_Oh._ Bucky holds his breath for a moment, wanting so badly to reach out and touch Steve. “To save thousands of lives, Steve,” he whispers. “You did it to save people. Because there wasn’t another choice.” Not really. He swallows heavily, scooting toward him a little but still not touching him. “It’s not your fault. She wouldn’t have blamed you.” He doesn’t know Peggy, has never even met her even if -- technically she’s his soulmate, too, at least he thinks. But he feels the weight of truth in his words and he hopes it’s because he’s right. 

“You know that, right?” 

Steve hears Bucky shifting on the bed behind him; his shoulders tensed but he doesn’t move away, stays standing within touching distance, if Bucky reached out to him now. “But I still hurt her,” he says, feeling his eyes burn, feeling like they’re going to overflow, and squeezing them shut tighter. 

“Yes,” Bucky says, voice very soft, because he can’t lie or try to pretend that Steve’s choice hadn’t hurt Peggy. He’s sure it did. There’s no doubt in his mind. The thought that he might have to make the same kind of choice one day in the future, that he might die and leave Bucky alone is terrifying. 

“I chose to hurt her,” Steve goes on. “And then I woke up, anyway, and what if I do it to you, and I -- who has two soulmates?” He spins around, finally, opening eyes that are too wet and bright, turning his pleading on Bucky. “Who has _two_ soulmates, and admits that they might be willing to hurt them both?” 

“You do. I do.” Bucky gazes at Steve for a moment from behind. “She does.” And he draws in a slow breath. “And I can’t actually speak for Peggy. I don’t know her. But I got a feeling that she’d have done the same thing if your situation had been reversed.” 

He presses his lips together. “There’s a difference between choosing the greater good and causing someone pain and hurting someone just because you want to, Steve.” 

“Is there?” Steve breathes, but he wants to believe it. He wants to. “I still hurt people in the end.” 

He takes a shuddering breath, drags his hands down out of his hair to scrub at his face instead. “I’m sorry. I -- I don’t know why I --” He knows he pretty much ruined a moment that wasn’t meant to be ruined, even if Bucky will probably tell him he’s got nothing to apologize for. He just -- everything in him wants to protect this man in front of him. Wants to keep him safe, wants to make him feel loved and wanted for the rest of his life. Wants that life to be long, and happy. Wants to be a part of that life. 

And isn’t sure he won’t mess it up along the way, anyway. 

“You’d like her,” is what he ends up saying, a little shakily. “She’d like you. You should -- if you wanted to -- I haven’t told her. About you.” And maybe he should. When this is all over. If this is ever over. If they don’t have to run to Canada or worse. 

Bucky slowly eases himself up and off the edge of the bed, rising to his feet and closing most of the distance between them. “We all do the best we can, Steve,” he whispers, hesitant but reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek. “None of us ever gets it one hundred percent right. None of us is perfect. You included.” 

He chews his lower lip. “And you don’t need to apologize.” God knows he’s had enough little meltdowns in the short time they’ve known each other. He certainly isn’t judging Steve for doing the same. He leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, letting his lips linger for a moment and stroking his thumb over Steve’s face before pulling back to look at him. 

Steve doesn’t stop Bucky when he touches him; all the same, he doesn’t quite lean into it, either. But he doesn’t lean away. He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling some mixture of shame and sorrow, but the touch of Bucky’s lips does help, and he can’t say why, except that Bucky really _is_ a part of him, and if at least part of him forgives him and understands… well, that’s at least part that is trying to be okay. 

Bucky’s still not sure about meeting Peggy. He’s not sure that’s something he’s equipped to handle, not sure it’s something _she_ would even want. And he’s definitely not sure she’d like him even if they did meet. So Bucky gives Steve a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

And Steve doesn’t miss the way Bucky’s smile isn’t as genuine as he might like, but he knows that might be asking a lot. Too much -- of Bucky and Peggy, both. There’s something in Steve that desperately wants them to meet, wants them to get along. But he can’t make it happen. He’s only one point in this weird triangle, and the other two matter so much more than he does, in his own mind. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quietly, reaching up to cover Bucky’s hand with his own. “I’m sorry, please let me make you something to eat.” 

Bucky’s chest still feels tight, like they’re not quite okay again. Like _Steve’s_ not quite okay with things, and he can’t really blame him, can he? Waking up 70 years in the future and finding out that you have a brand-new soulmate is bound to be taxing on a person’s nerves, even someone as good-natured as Steve Rogers. 

Steve isn’t sure they’re okay, either; he knows just apologizing and making Bucky breakfast isn’t going to solve it. But he isn’t sure what will, or if anything can, and it frustrates him not to have even the smallest idea of a plan of action. He’s got to do _something_. So if all he can do is make sure Bucky’s fed and taken care of right here and now, then by God, he’s going to do it. 

Bucky eventually nods, though, at the renewed offer of food, mostly because he knows Steve’s bound to be starving by now. His own appetite is gone, but he’s forced himself to eat when he wasn’t hungry plenty of times before. 

“Sounds good,” he says softly. “I’m gonna wash up real quick. Meet you in the kitchen in a few?” 

Steve nods -- and then leans in for a kiss, meaning for it to be quick and chaste, but… it’s not. It’s hard and desperate and lingering, before he finally makes himself rock back and let Bucky’s hand go. “Okay. Take your time.” 

Bucky isn’t expecting the kiss when it happens, but he returns it with just as much fervor, just as much desperation, feeling like there’s no air left in his lungs by the time Steve pulls away. 

He offers Bucky a smile, then glances around to find his underwear and sleep pants, crumpled on the floor. The former he uses to wipe off the sticky mess cooling on his stomach, and the latter he pulls on, because he isn’t quite comfortable enough to walk into the kitchen and cook naked. 

Bucky watches silently as Steve picks up his pants and tugs them on before heading out of the room. He makes no move to leave the room just yet, feeling a little dazed, head spinning at how quickly the mood had shifted. He draws in a few slow breaths before leaning down and picking up his own pants, tugging them on with a little difficulty before he makes his way to the bathroom. 

He takes his time, washing his hands, and then his face, not daring to venture a glance in the mirror right now. He’s not sure what he’d see and it makes him uneasy. He uses the bathroom and then washes again, moving back to the bedroom and searching until he finds a comfy hoodie, tugging it on over his head and hesitating at the door for a moment. Bucky rakes a hand through his hair, grimacing at how sweat-drenched it feels and knowing it’s likely going to get even worse before all is said and done.

By the time he makes it into the kitchen, he can smell eggs cooking and he heads to the fridge quietly, pulling out the orange juice and milk and setting them out on the table before pulling out a couple empty glasses. “Smells good,” he tells Steve, glancing at him. 

Once Steve had started pulling ingredients out and getting to work, he’d done his best to clear his mind and just the work calm his nerves while he was at least in a place to keep them calm, before things get intense again. He knows they will. 

Steve hears Bucky shuffle in, hears the fridge open and the soft _clink_ of glasses before he speaks. He glances over, offering Bucky a smile that’s still a little shaky around the edges but is a lot more heartfelt, a lot more genuine, than maybe he could’ve mustered a few minutes ago. 

“Thanks,” he says, starting to pile the first batch of eggs onto plates, where there’s already toast and half an orange each. He brings the plates over to the table, figuring he can make more later, but wanting Bucky to have something to eat while it’s hot. “Coffee’s just started brewing. I just made the whole pot,” he says, smile lopsided, apologetic, like he knows that can’t make up for his little breakdown, but he’s trying. 

He sinks down into a chair, hoping Bucky will do the same and dig in. He’s a weird mix of starving and not hungry at all, but he dutifully starts shoveling eggs into his mouth, knowing he needs to eat, and so does Bucky. 

Bucky smiles almost involuntarily at the mention of coffee, taking a deep breath to inhale the familiar scent as he settles himself at the table across from Steve. He watches the other tuck into his food, even as Bucky picks up his fork and stabs a few bites of egg with it and stuffs it into his mouth, dropping his gaze to his plate and trying to focus on his food, determined to eat enough to get him by for a few hours. 

“I’ve never been in full rut,” Steve says, “and I know you haven’t had a heat. We should maybe err on the side of caution. Take some stuff with us back to the bedroom?” 

Bucky nods at that suggestion. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” he admits, making a mental note of the foods they could keep safely by the bed. Mostly all non-perishables, obviously. He thinks how handy it would be to have a mini-fridge in the bedroom to keep protein shakes cold and maybe some simple things like hard-boiled eggs, cheese sticks, and maybe some berries. It’s something to think about for the future, if and when this happens again -- and he’s sure it will. 

Especially if his suppressants aren’t working anymore.

Steve figures they both have extensive experience with MREs -- and his mind mostly goes to the large box of Power Bars they’d gotten at the store, because since waking up in the future, Steve’s discovered they’re an easy thing to grab when his reserves are running low. Between that and things like bread and peanut butter and apples and carrots, he thinks he can pull together enough to keep them going in between the times when they’re all right to come out here and cook and eat. He genuinely doesn’t know if those times are going to get fewer and farther between or not, though, so maybe they’d better plan on it. 

Bucky picks up his glass of orange juice, swallowing a drink of it and looking at Steve from beneath his eyelashes. “I can clean up from breakfast if you wanna get some stuff together,” he offers. “Since you cooked.” 

Steve watches Bucky for a moment, wishing things didn’t still feel off, but knowing they can’t just go right back to okay after what he’d said, after bringing up Peggy, in whatever capacity. Still, he’s glad Bucky isn’t ignoring him, doesn’t seem _too_ hurt, even though Steve isn’t sure how much he might be hiding. 

He takes a chance, stretching out his leg under the table to bump Bucky’s foot with his own. “Yeah, okay. That sounds fair to me,” he says, with an undercurrent of hope in his voice. “Maybe there’s a thermos around here. Could keep some coffee hot for a while.” 

Bucky can feel Steve’s gaze on him but can’t quite manage to lift his own eyes to look at him fully at the moment. Not yet. But the nudge beneath the table makes him exhale, shoulders dropping a bit of their tension. “I can drink it cold, too,” he admits with a tiny smile. “It’s not too big a deal if we can’t find a thermos.” And frankly if it comes down to it, he’s pretty sure he could actually eat the coffee grounds. 

“Maybe a bunch of bottled waters,” he suggests, vaguely recalling reading about how easily a person can get dehydrated in rut or in heat. And he knows dehydration isn’t a fun experience, especially on top of all the other symptoms they’re trying to manage. He takes another bite of the eggs, hand trembling just the slightest bit, which he chooses to ignore though he does hook his ankle around Steve’s almost subconsciously. 

The touch is small, but it’s immeasurably comforting -- even if Steve’s nerves, still roiling in the pit of his stomach, are stronger. Bucky’s still not looking up at him, even if he looks a little better, but the thing is, Steve _is_ watching Bucky, and -- “How badly did I mess up?” he asks, softly, because his first instinct is not to talk about things, but… but this is different. This is them not being able to get away from each other for a few days, probably not even for more than a little while at a time, and he doesn’t want the rest of their shared heat/rut to be like this. “And how do I make it up to you?” 

Bucky looks up, almost startled by the question, eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t. You didn’t say or do anything wrong, Steve,” he says softly. “There’s nothing to make up for. I just --” He chews his lower lip and sets his fork down, his own stomach tying itself into a knot. “I need to think before I talk.” A faint laugh escapes him, but it’s a little strained. 

Steve shakes his head. “You didn’t say anything except the truth.” This isn’t on Bucky, and it’s just -- “I don’t know why it hit me like that.” He knows Bucky understands that sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason to it, but Steve can still feel bad about things he can’t control. He’s talented like that.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad or bring up things that upset you,” Bucky insists. Steve has to know that much. He might not have said anything that wasn’t truthful, but that doesn’t mean it hadn’t been painful. And he’s usually good at reading Steve, but he’d made a bad call this time. “And I guess maybe my own emotions are kinda all over the place right now.” He offers Steve a lopsided smile. 

Bucky’s admission does make him laugh softly, if only because, “Yours and mine, both.” Steve blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Everything feels like… _so much_ ,” he tries, because he isn’t sure how to describe it. “It’s like everything I’m feeling is more intense, and every situation is something I need to deal with _right now_. It’s like -- I don’t know,” he finally finishes. “Maybe that part is the hormones. I’m not used to it. It feels a little like I’m out of control.” Like he’s desperately reaching for something, and that something is pretty much Bucky. 

_Biology,_ Bucky thinks, feeling something loosen in his chest. Maybe, like Steve says, their hormones are just very out of whack. “Yeah, I -- I know what you mean.” He feels overwhelmed by the intensity of it, too. And maybe he should keep his mouth shut right now, but, “It was… a lot different. With…” He lets his voice trail off, knowing Steve knows who he’s talking about. 

Yeah, Steve can definitely guess who Bucky’s talking about. And, true to form, just thinking about Brock touching Bucky makes everything from jealousy to anger and even a little bit of fear flare up in his chest, like if he doesn’t go and strangle the man lifeless this very moment, he’s the biggest failure of the past two centuries. 

At least, given that they’re talking about it now, Steve manages to realize that isn’t the case, and maybe not calm down entirely, but at least take a couple of breaths and stay sitting here with Bucky, which is really what’s important. 

“I was able to keep my own head pretty clear during his ruts,” Bucky finishes. He’d had some iota of control, at least, even if it had mostly been in his mind. But now he’s in heat himself. “My mind’s not… feeling the clearest now. So… I get it. I don’t really feel very in control right now either.” 

Steve doesn’t know that bringing Peggy up again is really the best idea, but still -- “I think it was the same for Peggy,” he finds himself saying, softly. “Alphas don’t throw each other into rut. Not even soulmates. It wasn’t the same.” And there’s a reason alpha-alpha pairs just aren’t common, aside from the societal taboo. It’s because they have it harder than other pairings an alpha can choose. It’s because their biology isn’t entirely compatible, and there are so many things about Bucky that just fit neatly slotted into spaces that Steve wasn’t even aware were sitting empty, before. It’s nothing he can put into definitive terms, but it’s something he can feel, all the same. 

It makes a lot of sense to Bucky that things with Peggy would have felt a lot different than things with the two of them. As much as he doesn’t want to admit that some things are out of his control, he knows it’s true when it comes to his own biology. 

“I want you to feel safe. And taken care of. Even if ‘in control’ isn’t something at the top of the same list,” Steve finishes, softly, sincerely. 

Bucky draws in a slow, deep breath, then exhales just as slowly, shifting in the chair uncomfortably. “I do. Feel safe. I’m not worried you’re going to hurt me,” he says honestly. Not intentionally, anyway. 

“And obviously… I can’t actually keep you safe physically,” he tells Steve with a wry smile, lifting his left arm a little. “But I hope you know that nothing you tell me or trust me with will go any farther than the two of us.” 

“I don’t just mean physically,” Steve says. “And I know you’re capable of more than just punching bad guys on my behalf,” he puts in, because -- it’s like Becca said. Bucky’s smart. He thinks outside the box. He doesn’t need the use of both his hands to prove that he can handle himself, or that he could save Steve’s ass. And he knows it. He wants Bucky to know it, too. 

“But I don’t -- I won’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give me. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Please, believe me.” He laughs, humorlessly, because this is such a weird conversation to have. “It’s important to me. That we only do what you want. That _I_ only do what you want, and _you_ only give me what you want to give me. Does that… even make sense?” 

Bucky nods immediately. “No, I know. I just meant -- I’m not scared of you, Steve. In any way.” Even if Steve has the ability to rip his heart out -- and not just metaphorically -- he’s not afraid of him. He wonders if maybe he _should_ be, but since when has he ever let himself worry about that kind of thing? Never. He trusts him, completely. “And. I’m not sure there’s anything with you I _don’t_ want. That I don’t wanna give you.” Even if he’s a little nervous about the truth of that. 

But by now, a dull throb is beginning to knock against his skull and it’s all he can do not to wince. He wonders if Stark has any Advil or aspirin stashed away somewhere in this big mansion. He hopes so. 

Steve nods, slowly, choosing to believe Bucky, because if they don’t have that trust between them, then what do they have? Even if, “Well, it doesn’t have to be everything this time around. If that’s not what you want.” Because just because someone wants things, doesn’t mean they want them _right now_ , and Steve can absolutely respect that. 

But still, he frowns a little at the way Bucky’s begun to squirm in his chair, at the tight look still on his face. There’s something in him that hears what Bucky is saying, but… also hears what he maybe isn’t saying. Or, at least, can guess. “Is it getting bad again?” 

Bucky’s fingers wrap around the glass of juice, hoping the coolness of the glass will help cool his rapidly heating skin. “Yeah. A little. Starting to get another headache,” he confesses, rolling his eyes at himself. And he feels himself starting to feel a little shakier, a little more like he needs to climb out of his skin. “I’m okay, though. Go ahead and finish eating, all right? I’m gonna start cleaning things up.” 

Steve feels his stomach flip-flop a little when Bucky admits that he isn’t feeling great. It starts his own heart thumping a little harder in his chest. He frowns a little, but he nods -- although, “I’ll finish up, but why don’t you just get everything together you think you might want. We can clean up later.” It’s only going to get worse, he knows, not better, the longer they put off climbing back into the bed and curling around each other. Or, “There’s a dishwasher, too. We can just run that.” 

“Yeah, okay. I can do that.” Rounding up a few things to take back to the bedroom and stuffing the dishes in the dishwasher seems a lot less taxing than the idea of actually washing the mountain of dishes that are around, now. Steve’s rut has only just started, after all, and Bucky can’t help but think it’s going to get a lot worse than Brock’s ever had, if only because he’s been on suppressants for so long _and_ he’s a super soldier. 

He gazes at Steve for a moment, before saying. “I… bought a few things at the store when we went. They’re uh -- in the bedside table.” Because he’d known it was possible that Steve would go into rut after suddenly stopping his drug intake and he’d meant it when he’d offered to help him. He _wants_ to help him. 

“Just in case I get caught up in things.” His cheeks grow warm, look on his face a bit sheepish. He’s not going to elaborate on what those things _are_ unless Steve specifically asks. 

There’s a part of Steve that is still determined to make sure he doesn’t try to take anything from Bucky that Bucky doesn’t want to give. If that means locking himself in -- or out -- of the room, if that means suffering through his rut alone, and maybe even if that means making Bucky suffer through his heat alone… those are all things Steve can’t pretend he hasn’t considered. 

So it does take him a minute to figure out what Bucky means, but _in the bedside table_ gives him a clue, and -- “Oh. Oh, I -- that’s good to know. Okay,” Steve says, feeling a little blindsided, all at once even more in love with Bucky than before, but also just as hesitant. He can imagine the kinds of things Bucky means, because every male omega is told how uncomfortable satisfying an alpha (or even a male beta) can be, without the right supplies.

And now it’s Steve’s turn to feel his face go red, because, “I hadn’t even thought --” He hadn’t considered. But Bucky had, and he’s grateful now, whether they use anything Bucky bought or not. 

Bucky smiles and rises to his feet, picking up his half-empty plate and glancing at Steve. “Do you uh -- want the rest of mine?” he offers. 

Steve frowns a little at the plate Bucky offers him, wishing Bucky had eaten more, but also not about to waste food. “Yeah, I’ll take it,” he says, softly, scooping the last bite off his own plate to trade. “Thanks.” 

And he sets to work finishing Bucky’s plate as well, as fast as he comfortably, can, because Steve’s still feeling relatively all right, body buzzing but at a low level, probably because he’d gotten off twice for Bucky’s once. But it’ll wear off, he knows, the same as it did for Bucky. And he doesn’t want to be caught off guard when it does. Either of them.


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky trails his mouth back up Steve’s body to capture his lips in a kiss, his right hand wrapped around the blonde’s still-hard cock, stroking him slowly. Despite the fact that they’d both had more than one shower today, and numerous showers the day before, he still feels sweat-drenched and a little disgusting. But there’s also no sign that Steve’s rut is doing anything but ramping up in its intensity, the blow jobs and hand jobs doing less and less to alleviate his misery. And it’s not really any different for Bucky. Steve’s hands have been all over him, full body contact almost constant, and he still can’t get rid of the itchy feeling under his skin. If anything, it seems to be getting worse. 

He pants for breath when he pulls away from the kiss, eyes glazed and red-rimmed as he stares down at Steve. It hadn’t been like this with Brock. Or with the other couple of alphas he’d helped through their ruts because they’d had no omegas to assist with their needs. No, this is by far more intense and he can’t help but think it’s because his own heat is making things much, much worse for Steve. 

To top things off, neither of them has gotten much sleep. Bucky’s napped here and there, but each time has grown shorter as he wakes up chilled and shaking, beads of sweat covering his forehead and neck, whimpering involuntarily and sounding pathetic even to his own ears. He’s lost track of the number of times they’ve brought each other to climax, but -- it’s a lot. A _lot_. By all rights, it should be wrapping up. They’re already on day three of this and three is usually highballing it. 

Steve’s admittedly lost track of time a little, too; he knows it’s been days, but it’s hard to think straight in a way that it never has been, before. Right now, for example, all he can think about is the taste of Bucky’s lips and the feel of his hand, and how it’s _not enough_ no matter how much he wants to be. He just _came_ and it felt almost unsatisfying in that way it’s been feeling for a while now, when it stopped letting the fire under his skin cool down for a bit and instead just started stoking it higher. His fingers curl into Bucky’s hips too tightly for a second, before he makes a sound and pulls them away, settling his hands -- carefully flat -- on Bucky’s sides instead. 

He chases Bucky’s lips eagerly, nipping and licking like that can make up for what he can’t seem to find any other way, nosing clumsily at Bucky’s cheek, his jaw, his neck, wrapping his arms around Bucky tighter and burying his face into the sweaty skin. He’s so tired, but too buzzed to relax, hips arching eagerly into Bucky’s touch even though it doesn’t feel like enough. 

“Lemme touch you,” he breathes, almost begging, because maybe that will help. Maybe plastering himself over Bucky will make him feel better. Steve wants to run his hands over every inch of his skin, wants to follow them with his tongue, wants to fling himself on top of Bucky and roll around and bite and scratch and a hundred other things, all warring inside his head, roiling in his chest, and he thinks maybe this is losing control. Maybe he needs to crawl away and shower again; but the thought of doing that alone makes him whimper, frustrated and annoyed and God, when is this going to be over? He’s not doing a good enough job of taking care of his omega. That must be it.   
“Please,” Bucky agrees breathlessly, skin hot to the touch -- a combination now from his heat and their activities. 

Steve makes a desperate noise when Bucky agrees, rocking them so they fall sideways onto the bed, then rolling to push Bucky onto his back so Steve can pretty aggressively nuzzle at every inch of available skin, dragging his nose and lips and teeth over Bucky’s chest and shoulders and neck. Bucky is covered in little bruises and red marks, almost everywhere except his left arm and his neck, two places Steve has been so, so careful to avoid with his teeth, opting instead for kisses as gentle and slow as he can make them, never once acting like he might try something Bucky wouldn’t like on a part of him that’s injured -- or been taken advantage of before. Steve wishes Bucky’s marks would last longer on his own skin, but he doesn’t mind giving Bucky an excuse to make more as often as he wants. 

Bucky slides his arm around Steve’s neck the moment they’ve shifted positions, shuddering at the faint tinge of relief he feels to be covered head to toe by Steve’s body like a blanket. Yet it still isn’t enough and he can feel the edge of desperation beginning to claw at both of them. He shifts a little as Steve starts to thrust against his thighs, lifting his left leg and winding it around his hips, scraping his teeth over his lip as his eyes flutter shut. 

“All those writers were _wrong_ ,” he mumbles, burying his face against Steve’s throat, nipping and kissing him there. He could leave marks on Steve, he’s discovered, but they fade within minutes. Unlike the ones he’s covered in. He doesn’t mind, really, kind of likes the idea that Steve’s claiming him in some small way. He doesn’t mind the bite of pain on his hips, whines faintly when his hands move away to rest on his sides instead. “All the movies romanticize this.” They neglected to show you how painful it actually is. 

His bones ache in a way that they never have, like his skin is stretched too thin, itchy and unpleasant and just barely keeping him from flying apart. He wonders, momentarily, if he’s losing his mind. If maybe they both are. This couldn’t possibly be _normal_. He’s read about unpleasant heats and ruts, but nothing in any of the books he’s ever read comes close to this.

Nothing. 

“They’re all liars,” Steve mumbles -- almost growls -- in agreement, eventually pressing his nose to the side of Bucky’s head, rocking his hips as gently as he can into the hollow of Bucky’s thigh. His knot is _so_ sensitive, barely half-blown, partly because it never seems to have the chance to fully come out or go down before he’s begging Bucky for more again. It’s too much and not enough all at once, as Steve digs his hands into the sheets and bumps Bucky’s head gently, trying to nuzzle his way behind his ear to his mark. “God, how can something be awful and amazing at the same time?” 

Bucky laughs quietly at the question, because damn, it’s a good one. It’s also one he unfortunately doesn’t have an answer to. He moves his head at Steve’s wordless encouragement, letting him nuzzle at the mark behind his ear and feeling a surge of heat wash over him. His nails rake down Steve’s back lightly, not enough to leave marks, but enough that Steve definitely feels it. “I don’t feel like we’re coming down at all,” he admits, panting. 

Steve writhes a little, trying to arch into Bucky’s touch -- God, it feels so good when he drags his nails over Steve’s back like that -- and thrust his hips a little harder as Bucky’s leg comes around his waist and it stokes something hot and deep inside him. He shakes his head a little, because, “No,” he breathes, nuzzling harder into Bucky’s skin for a minute, having a really hard time even thinking about pulling back to talk, instead lowering his chest a little more, pressing into Bucky more firmly. “No, I -- how long’s it been? D’you remember? It must -- it’s gotta be over soon. Right?” 

It has to be. It has to be, or he’ll claw his own skin off in desperation. It wasn’t this bad before, but things had been so different, for a lot of reasons. 

“Couple days. Day three, I think,” Bucky murmurs, closing his eyes and lifting his hips to meet Steve in a thrust. His hand moves up, covering the mark on Steve’s neck, fingers trailing over it. He glances over at the ever-dwindling pile of snacks on the nightstand, the empty water bottles. Today they hadn’t even gotten up for real food. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off one another long enough to manage that. He licks his lips, groaning as Steve’s weight pressed down against him more. 

“Steve, I think -- maybe if we… actually _have_ sex, it’ll help.” He breathes slowly, ignoring the flutter of nerves in his stomach. Because he’s pretty sure that the reason _Steve’s_ not getting any real relief is because his knot isn’t fully swelling, and he thinks the only way it’s going to is if Steve’s inside him when it happens. 

Steve’s in the process of twisting his head awkwardly to try to keep his own lips on Bucky’s mark while pressing into the touch on his own when Bucky says _that_ , and it’s like his whole body goes still -- except for a traitorous twitch of his cock, which really likes the idea Bucky’s proposing. 

Not that Steve doesn’t -- hell no, he does, he really does -- but they haven’t talked about it at all since Bucky obtusely brought up that he’d bought some supplies, and part of Steve (most of Steve, really) wants to leap at the idea, but still -- “Are you -- would it help you? Is that what you want?” 

Because… holy shit. Three days. Three days, and they still feel like this? Steve doesn’t think that’s normal, either. 

Bucky shifts beneath him a little, dropping his head back against the pillows so he can look at him, pupils blown wide. “I think it might,” he admits. “I don’t know.” He really doesn’t, but he can’t fathom it’ll make his bones ache any more than they already do. Or that his skin could possibly grow any hotter without actually melting right off his skeleton. He strokes the mark beneath Steve’s hairline, touch soft. His head is sort of spinning the way it has been for the last three days, his own dick starting to perk back up at the thought -- both terrifying and exciting at the same time. 

“Do _you_ want to?” he asks, swallowing. 

Steve manages, with no little effort, to peel himself away from Bucky’s neck. To stop the motion of his hips and sit back on his haunches a little, even though it makes every nerve ending cry out with the loss. 

Bucky whines involuntarily when Steve pulls back, breathing growing more ragged even as he tries to force himself to take a deep breath so they can talk. 

That whine almost sends Steve careening right back into Bucky, but he locks his muscles in place so they can talk without getting distracted again. He blinks eyes that are a little glazed and a lot blown, mouth hanging open as his breath comes in soft, panting puffs. He looks like he’s searching Bucky’s face for something, eyes roving over his features, before he says, “I want to if you want to.” 

He knows that sounds like a non-answer, like a cop-out, but, “I only want it if you want it. If it’s just me enjoying myself -- I don’t want that. I don’t want that no matter what.” He doesn’t even _know_ if it’s enjoyable -- it must be, people do it all the time, alphas and even betas talk about being inside someone all the time like it’s an accomplishment, like it’s something to aim for, but… It’s different, for omegas. Steve knows. He was one. It’s different, for _male_ omegas, because the locker room talk there was that it’s not always comfortable and if it isn’t going to help Bucky, then Steve doesn’t want any part of it. They can figure something else out. 

Bucky almost smiles at the answer that Steve gives him because it _does_ sound like a bit of a non-answer. But he’s so earnest and sweet when he says he only wants it if they’re both going to enjoy it that it almost brings tears to his eyes. 

“I do want to,” he admits, pressing his right hand firmly into the mattress and sitting up, reaching out and resting his hand against Steve’s chest, needing the contact. 

Steve leans toward the touch to his chest like he’s being pulled by a magnet, feeling a flare of nerves in his stomach as Bucky says he wants to. As it’s decided, just like that. They’re going to have sex. Steve’s going to figure out how to have sex. 

“I think -- I wanna shower first. Again.” Bucky gives Steve a wry smile. “And you should eat something else.” He’s not sure how long either of them are going to be able to stand being apart but he’s doing his best to force his brain to work logically, like it’s not been completely hijacked by hormones for the last 72 hours. 

Of course, Steve’s body is suddenly very, very interested, and eager to get started, despite the herd of butterflies that’s just moved in; but he keeps himself in check as Bucky says he wants to shower again, as he tells Steve to eat something first. “Not really --” he starts to say, because he barely feels hungry, except that his stomach lets out a noise just then and he blows out a little breathy laugh, hanging his head. “Nevermind. I can have, uh --” he glances at the bedside table. “Another Power Bar. Do you want me to change the sheets?” 

One of the best things about staying in a place owned by a person with ungodly amounts of money is the high-capacity washer and dryer. And the sheer number of extra sheets and pillowcases. 

Bucky’s mouth quirks upwards as Steve starts to protest and his stomach immediately gives him away. He laughs quietly, shifting closer and wrapping his arms around him for a moment, pressing a soft kiss against his jaw. “Might not be the worst idea,” Bucky admits, not entirely sure how long it might be before they get another chance. And he doesn’t love the idea of lying face-down on dirty sheets for a long period of time. 

Steve lets out a soft sound that’s almost relief, arms immediately coming around Bucky and holding him close, even if he knows he’ll have to let him slip away in just a minute. 

“Maybe grab some more bottles of water, too?” Bucky kisses Steve’s temple before pulling back to look at him, searching his eyes. 

“Okay,” Steve says softly -- to both requests, because those are simple and will make his omega happy and that is one of his driving concerns right now (well, right now, and always). “D’you want anything else? From the kitchen?” He knows he isn’t going to want to let Bucky out of his sight, so maybe the more he has to keep him busy while Bucky’s in the shower, the better. Especially because it’s going to be hard to let Bucky go, now that they’re pressed up together and it would be so, so easy just to push Bucky back onto the mattress and start mapping him all over with his lips and teeth and tongue. 

Bucky considers the question, mostly because he has the distinct impression that Steve’s feeling anxious and needs things to do while he’s showering. “Make a fresh pot of coffee? Lots of sugar?” He glances toward the table where the coffee had run out hours ago, along with the supply of sugar he’d been using in it. “And see if Tony’s got any cookies somewhere in those cabinets?” He smiles, lifting his hand to Steve’s cheek. 

Steve definitely looks a little relieved when Bucky finds something for him to do, something Steve can bring him. “Yessir,” he says softly, tilting his head into Bucky’s touch for a moment before darting in for a quick kiss that is painfully -- but intentionally -- chaste. Then he slides off the bed, awkward and still aroused, and starts gathering up sheets and pillowcases, signaling to Bucky that he should go, because if he lingers, so will Steve, and they’ll be right back where they started. His skin is still burning with need, but his nerves have taken over somewhat, and Steve never thought he’d be _relieved_ to be nervous, but he never thought he’d be on day _three_ of a rut with no end in sight, either. 

But with a task to do -- a task for Bucky -- it’s a little easier to keep his body going and his mind occupied, and push the rut _and_ his nerves into the background a little. He multitasks by shoving half a Power Bar into his mouth and chewing in the time it takes to cart the bedclothes to the laundry room and get the load running, then pads into the kitchen to set up the coffee and pull down more mugs, sugar, spoons, and -- unsurprisingly -- several packages of cookies. He lets the coffee brew while he remakes the bed and shoves the other half of the Power Bar into his mouth, already itchy and hot and not even the least bit embarrassed by the fact that he’s been walking around the house naked and hard. His hands burn with wanting to touch Bucky and Steve almost loses his own little battle of wills when he walks by the bathroom door and hears the shower running, but he comes back to himself just before he can put his hand on the knob and turn. Then he jumps away like he’s been burned and hurries back to the kitchen to see if the coffee’s done. 

Bucky doesn’t waste any time, either. As soon as Steve heads out of the room, he makes his way into the bathroom, taking a long, hot shower that’s unpleasant on two levels: his skin already feels too hot, and Steve’s hands aren’t currently on him. The latter fact also means that his chest hurts, that his entire body _aches_ , head pounding. He hopes like hell his hunch on this is right, though. Because if it isn’t, he’s officially out of ideas. He scrubs his skin with soap, rough but efficient, paying special attention to his ass to make sure it’s good and clean. 

A couple of times he’s sure he hears footsteps approaching the bathroom door, but they retreat just as quickly as they approach and -- yeah. He knows this isn’t getting any easier for Steve. If anything, it’s worse. He hesitates, though, but shifts to part his legs, stretching himself with a finger, then two, wincing a little at the burn because it’s been awhile. He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip as he does his best to prepare himself. Then he washes one more time before climbing out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his lower body, grabbing a couple more thick towels from the closet before quietly padding out into the bedroom once more, placing the towels on the bed carefully and turning when he hears Steve approaching. 

He can’t quite help himself from raking his gaze over the other man’s body because he is fucking _beautiful_ and sometimes it’s hard to believe that the guy wants _him_. “Hey.” 

Steve ends up stopping in the doorway, pot of coffee in one hand and everything else cradled in the crook of his elbow. Bucky looks… well, he looks like Bucky, the same as he’s always looked, but there’s something about him right now, still a little damp and flushed and piling towels on the bed, that brings Steve’s nerves blazing back to life. He doesn’t know what Bucky’s expecting, but he _wants_ to be whatever that is for him. And he definitely doesn’t know how. 

But he also wants to find out, just as badly as he wants to get close to Bucky again. So he crosses the rest of the way into the bedroom quickly, setting everything down and practically gravitating toward Bucky before coming up short, glancing from the neatly made bed to his damp boyfriend and suddenly feeling every caked droplet of sweat all over his body. “Do you want me to wash up, too?” he breathes, not entirely sure which answer he wants more. 

Bucky finds himself holding his breath as he watches Steve come toward him, feeling like he can hear his own heart pounding in his ears. “Up to you,” he tells him quietly, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “Do you feel like you need a shower right now?” He’s not turned off by the sweat that’s clinging to Steve’s skin and he thinks maybe that’s a little weird. He moves so they’re only a few inches apart. “I’m okay either way.” 

Steve laughs a little, definitely nervous, but his body sways almost precariously toward Bucky’s as the other shuffles closer. “I feel a little out of place,” he admits, but maybe it’s not a bad thing. It’s not like they won’t get sweaty and dirty all over again, he assumes -- hell, he can feel his body temperature already starting to ratchet up, the closer Bucky gets, making his heart pound harder and his lungs work faster. “I could… we could shower after?” 

He isn’t sure that’s a good compromise, but he’s finding it hard to even think about stepping away from Bucky, like being back in the same space is pulling him under, right back to where they’d left off, and it’s both good and bad. 

Bucky’s expression softens and he reaches out because he can’t stand the idea of _not_ touching Steve for even one moment longer and he lays his hand flat over his heart, stepping closer, right up into his personal space -- as if that was a thing that even existed between them at this point. “We can,” he agrees, because he doesn’t really give a damn right now if Steve’s fresh out of the shower or not. It can wait. 

“So I guess that means we need to figure a couple things out.” His voice is low, barely a whisper as he rises up on his toes to press a kiss against Steve’s mouth, light and teasing. 

That kiss, that tone of voice, make Steve shiver like the temperature in the room has dropped, even though it’s probably gotten _hotter_ , if anything. His arms sling low around Bucky’s back, fingers brushing the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist, but he doesn’t try to remove it. Not yet.

Bucky can’t quite stop the shiver that rushes through him when Steve’s arms wind around him. Everything feels totally different than it had before they’d taken a break; Steve feels both more in control and less like he could hold himself back if they tumble into bed together again. Which they will. That’s the _plan_. 

Steve leans in close, forehead pressing to Bucky’s, feeling the press of damp hair against his own hairline, making him shiver again. “Okay. What do we need to figure out?” He doesn’t want to admit that he’s got no real clue what he’s doing, but maybe just by asking that question, Bucky can figure it out. 

Bucky draws in a breath, keeping his forehead leaned against Steve’s because it feels -- good. Safe. Intimate, as they share quiet breaths in a small space. His lips quirk upwards a little at the question, though, and he’s not _entirely_ sure, but he thinks this might be Steve’s first time with another man. He’s never mentioned anyone aside from Peggy, but he knows Steve’s smart enough to know how very different it is. 

“Well. How you want me, for one,” he tells him, letting his hand slide up to cup the back of Steve’s neck. Once that’s decided, he’ll present Steve with the other options. The other _facts._

Steve’s maybe got a little bit of an advantage, having been an omega before. But not much of one, considering he hadn’t had any experience _as_ one. He’d just known the things he would’ve hated someone to do to him. A lot of them are also things his body wants very much to do to Bucky, so… it’s going to be an important line, he thinks. He’ll want to cross it, and he has to make sure that he doesn’t. This is going to be what Bucky wants, as much as it is what Steve wants. Otherwise he doesn’t want any part of it. 

He leans closer still at the touch to the back of his neck, letting out a soft breath, already starting to feel the itching fire crawl up his spine. It’s almost harder to think straight when Bucky is right here than when he’s not; Steve closes his eyes for a moment, fingers drifting down over the towel, tracing the curve of Bucky’s ass, doing his best not to pull him closer. Not yet. 

“I, um -- do you want me to see your face?” Getting on his knees and presenting for somebody had always been the worst thing Steve could’ve imagined. But if Bucky wants to be traditional about it, if his heat makes that appealing, then Steve will do it. But he would kind of like to see Bucky’s face. “And -- there are ways you could be on top, right? It doesn’t have to be… I don’t know what I like,” he says desperately, all in a rush. “I’ll try anything.” 

Bucky studies every reaction Steve has to his touch, memorizing it for safekeeping, but when Steve’s voice takes on that edge of desperation, of worry, he finds himself wanting to comfort him almost as much as he wants Steve’s hands on him. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, strokes his fingers through the soft blond hair. 

Getting on his knees to present like that _isn’t_ his idea of a good time by any means, even if he knows it’s what’s pushed in larger society. But this isn’t larger society. He knows there are plenty of other positions, ones that wouldn’t be as much a strain on his shoulder -- something Brock had never cared about. The guy never wanted to look at him when they were having sex. 

He does his best to shake off those thoughts, those memories. “It’s okay,” he tells Steve gently. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. “Do you uh -- do you _wanna_ see my face? It’s okay if you don’t,” he adds quickly. “Or if you don’t at first. Or later. Whatever.” He feels the heat rising to his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” Steve says quickly, frowning a little, blinking open his eyes to look into Bucky’s. “Yeah, I wanna see you. If that’s what you want. I don’t --” He pauses, thinking this is going to sound stupid, but it’s true: “I don’t want to feel like I’m doing this with anyone but you.” It’s _Bucky_ , and the fact that it is Bucky is exactly what’s making him so hot and desperate and eager to please. He can’t imagine being here with anyone else right now. He doesn’t want to be. Not even Peggy. This, right here, this moment, with the two of them, is exactly what he wants. 

But, “I don’t want to hurt you. I mean -- accidentally. I don’t want to lose control. Could we maybe start…” Steve trails off, not sure that what he’s picturing is really going to satisfy them both at the end, but maybe it is a good way to start. He pulls back a little, unable to help the little gasp as he peels himself away from Bucky’s chest, but then he slides one hand around to take Bucky’s left, loosely, and starts tugging him toward the bed, walking backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge, and then he sits down, trying to tug Bucky with him, on top of him, into his lap. “Like this, we could start like this?” 

Bucky feels a flood of warmth in his chest at Steve’s words and for a moment he feels like he can’t breathe. He can be so damned _sweet_. It’s almost overwhelming. It’s something he’s still trying to get used to. He watches as Steve tries to voice his concerns, and he’s not sure what he’s asking until he backs himself right up against the bed and sits down. 

He lets himself be tugged down onto Steve’s lap, towel loosening as he straddles his hips, eyes growing darker. “Yeah,” he agrees easily, nodding. “Yeah, we can do that. I’ve never -- done it like this before, but I’m good with trying it if you are,” he tells him, wanting to be upfront with him. He bites back a groan at the feel of their erections pressing together through the material of the towel. 

“I wanna try,” Steve confirms, low and quiet, liking the way Bucky’s eyes look, not to mention the way the towel is riding lower on his hips by the heartbeat. It’s not like they’ve never seen each other naked, of course, but there’s something about that soft, flimsy barrier that makes Steve feel hot just thinking about what’s beneath it. 

And then Bucky rocks forward, and Steve can’t help the soft sound he makes, or the way his eyelids flutter, at the tiniest bit of relief and promise of more against his aching length. 

Bucky reaches up to stroke his cheek, taking a slow breath. “I uh -- I did a little prep in the shower. Just...stretching,” he admits. “Not a lot, but some.” 

Steve’s eyes flutter open again, and he can’t help the sharp breath he sucks in, eyes flicking down to that towel and then back up again. “Oh,” he says softly, reaching up with one hand to touch Bucky’s face, too, fingers curling behind his ear, like they’re drawn to the mark they both know is there. He’d maybe never in a million years imagined how someone saying something like that to him would light him up like the fourth of July. 

Bucky almost whimpers at the feel of his fingertips against the soulmark there, entire body flushing with heat as Steve says, “That’s… a good start, right? We need the stuff you got next?” He glances over, trying to lean back without dislodging Bucky fingertips reaching for the drawer to work it open so he can rummage around inside. 

Bucky shifts on Steve’s lap, trying hard to refocus his brain on the conversation. He bites his lip, watching as Steve reaches into the drawer, heart skipping a beat. “I wasn’t sure -- ” He hesitates a second. “I got stuff but we don’t _have_ to use it. I want your first time to be good, Steve.” He reaches up, cupping his face to draw his attention back to Bucky. “It uh -- it is your first time, right?” His voice is soft, not at all judgmental. 

He’s not one hundred percent he’s right, but Steve saying he doesn’t know what he likes is a pretty big clue. And sure, he might have slept with Peggy, but -- it seems just as likely that he didn’t. They’d been in the middle of _war_ after all. And they’d both been alphas, and having to sneak around like that might not have been conducive to actual sex. 

Steve’s fingers only barely touch the bottle in the drawer before Bucky shifts on his lap, and if it refocuses anything, it is definitely _not_ Steve’s brain. No, that doesn’t get back in gear until he feels a hand on his face, and he has to replay the last several seconds a couple of times to figure out what exactly Bucky had asked. 

But then he does, and his lips tick up into a shy, almost embarrassed little smile. Bucky hadn’t sounded condescending or even surprised, but Steve’s still a little nervous when he says, “Can’t pull one over on you, soldier.” Because yeah, he’d dropped that hint intentionally, and he isn’t surprised or disappointed that Bucky picked up on it. So, “Yeah. It’s the first time.” 

Bucky gives him a soft, reassuring smile when he admits that it _is_ indeed his first time -- but then Steve’s brain rewinds a couple seconds more, and, “Wait, which stuff?” he asks, frowning a little. “I mean… I, uh. I can’t get you pregnant. And I can’t carry disease.” So if Bucky meant condoms, in that he doesn’t want Steve to use one, that seems okay. But condoms don’t come in bottles, and that was what Steve had just started to get his fingers on. 

“Oh.” Bucky knows that, of course -- on both accounts. He doesn’t have the right parts to get pregnant, and he knows Steve doesn’t get _sick_. He’d still bought condoms along with the lube and the plug, just in case. 

“I’ve been tested, but uh -- on the off chance that -- ” He decides saying Brock’s name right now is definitely not a thing he wants to do, “someone I was with previously was carrying something that takes longer to show up on a test, I grabbed condoms just in case.”

Steve can’t help the smile that cracks his face for a moment; Bucky had been trying to protect him, just in case, and it makes Steve want to grab him in a bear hug and roll around on the bed -- and then probably do other things, yeah, but he still gets that warm, heady rush of genuine, chaste _gratitude_ for a moment, first. “I think we’re okay, unless it’s more comfortable.” 

The way that Steve’s face lights up turns Bucky’s insides to mush, a rush of affection washing over him that leads him to press a soft kiss against his jaw. “I’m good without, if you are.” 

Then he adds, “But…” 

Bucky presses his lips together, pulls back so that he can look at Steve intently. “A lot of people say that using the other stuff takes something away for them.” Alphas, specifically. Hell, he remembers sitting through sex education in high school and hearing that lube shouldn’t be expected on an omega’s part. That it makes things less pleasurable for the alpha. “I just want you to have the facts before we do this. And I want it to be good for you. Special,” he admits.

When Bucky mentions the _other stuff_ , Steve needs to take a second to parse that out, during which he reaches into the drawer again and pulls out the bottle he felt and -- 

And _oh_. Oh, yeah. 

Bucky stays still and silent, though, when Steve examines the bottle of lube. Even though he _knows_ better, there’s a tiny part of him expecting a little backlash just from having bought it. The look that the store clerk had given him had been _oozing_ with judgement and disapproval. He suspects it’s the look a lot of people would give someone in his position. 

Steve reads the label a few times, and -- well. _He_ hadn’t gotten sex ed, but people talked. They still talk. And Steve had been told plenty of times that if someone ever deigned his skinny, bony body worth fucking, that he shouldn’t expect to be treated well. That he shouldn’t expect to be comfortable. That wasn’t what omegas were for.

And that’s _bullshit_. His eyes turn back to Bucky, and he drops the bottle onto the bed to lean in close for a deep, biting kiss. “Buck,” he mumbles, sliding his hands down Bucky’s back, tangling in the plush cloth of the towel, “I know what people say. I don’t actually believe ‘em. And even if it’s true -- I don’t care. If you aren’t having fun, I’m not having fun.” 

Bucky’s not sure, exactly, what he’s expecting from Steve, but that deep kiss isn’t it. Still, he returns it just as urgently, barely resisting the urge to rock their hips together and completely leave this conversation in the dust. Everything in him relaxes, though, at Steve’s seriousness. He presses their foreheads together again, at least until Steve pulls back to ask “Is it -- fun? For you? With the right stuff?” 

Steve suddenly has a sinking feeling that maybe omegas don’t really like sex as much as they’re all led to believe. But that’s… silly, right? There have got to be ways for both of them to enjoy it. He can’t live his life going into rut and being okay with Bucky lying back and thinking of England every time Steve needs to scratch that itch. 

“With the right stuff, yeah,” Bucky says quietly, nodding. Brock had never been willing to use the stuff when they were together, but when he’d been overseas and one of the alphas in his unit had gone into rut, he’d agreed to help him out, if only out of necessity. But he’d been a beta then. No one had thought twice about using lube to have sex. Without it, though, it definitely isn’t the most pleasant experience. 

This time, it’s Steve’s turn to relax, at hearing that yeah, sex can be enjoyable for Bucky, too. “Okay,” he breathes, nuzzling a little into Bucky’s cheek, finally giving in to the urge to arch his hips up, seeking a little friction. 

A quiet noise escapes Bucky at the feel of Steve shifting positions, rubbing against the towel, and him, even as Steve says again, “Okay. Then we use the stuff.” That’s it, there’s no question. Steve doesn’t know how it should feel without it, so what does it matter even if it is better? _He_ wants to feel Bucky feeling good, and that is the only thing that matters to him right now. 

He loops one arm around Bucky’s waist, reaching for the bottle with the other to drag it over. “Is this what the towels are for?” he suddenly realizes, and figures if they’ve got to reposition onto one of them… they’d better do it now, while he can still think to ask. Every second Bucky spends this close to him is a second he can feel his body gravitating toward the other’s. 

Bucky nods quickly. “Yeah. Figured we might want to save at least one set of bedsheets tonight,” he jokes. He’d been pretty sure that Steve would insist on using the lube -- sure enough that he’d both bought it _and_ laid towels down in anticipation. And Steve -- true to his nature -- doesn’t disappoint. Some of the nerves in his belly begin to untwist and settle down, leaving only an echo of his worries behind, along with a heavy dose of anticipation.

Bucky holds his breath, pulling back just enough to look at Steve more intently. “Do you uh -- mind helping?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice now. “I can manage but it’s a little tricky with the arm.” He chews his lower lip. 

“No,” Steve insists immediately, “Geez, Buck -- of course I don’t mind.” He actually grins a little, ducking his head into Bucky’s shoulder because, “You think I’m gonna turn down a chance to get my hands on you more?” he breathes, laughing a little because it’s ridiculous, really, how much he still _wants_ to touch Bucky, after all the touching they’ve been doing for three days straight. 

When Steve ducks his head into his shoulder, Bucky laughs quietly, too, sliding his hand through Steve’s hair and letting his hand rest on the back of his head. Steve hums, pressing eagerly into Bucky’s touch and thinking how good it always feels, how soothing it usually is -- and how it just stokes the fire deep in his belly right now, makes him want to touch and kiss Bucky _more_ until there isn’t an inch of him Steve hasn’t tasted. 

But before that, there is the fact that Steve isn’t exactly sure what Bucky needs him to do -- he gets the basic concept, he’s not a prude and he has those parts himself, but he’s just never done it. But with some instruction, he’s pretty sure he can figure it out. “Should we… uh, we should get on the towels. C’mere.” And Steve does his best to inch and squirm them around, trying to scoot his ass onto one of the towels and then turn a bit so he can lean back against the headboard, all without dislodging Bucky. It… probably looks ridiculous. 

Bucky can’t help but chuckle again when Steve scoots along the bed to get them on the towels, and he presses a kiss to his cheek. “Might be easier if I’m face down for this part,” he admits. That way Steve can see what he’s doing more easily.

He lifts his head up to look at Steve with a smile, eyes full of warmth, reaching out and plucking the bottle of lube from his hands. “Biggest thing is uh -- use a lot of it. And go kinda slow?” He knows that the latter part is easier said than done right now, when they’re both teetering on just this side of _need more right now_. The stretching he’d done himself should help some with making that go faster, but Steve’s fingers are also bigger than his own. 

Steve almost doesn’t want to let Bucky go, even to turn over, but he trusts Bucky’s experience and will definitely do what he asks, especially with this part. “Okay,” he says -- rocking forward for _one more kiss_ that lingers longer than maybe it should, while his hands slowly drift down to the towel around Bucky’s waist again and start to slowly inch it down, letting it fall loose so he can toss it onto the floor, figuring he’s going to need to see what he’s doing. 

Bucky moans into his mouth, his own need skyrocketing at the kisses Steve keeps laying on him. He squirms in his lap, shivering a little when he tugs the towel away, leaving Bucky bare once more. 

“Tell me if I’m not doing it right. Please. I want you to feel good,” Steve says, firmly, when he pulls away. “I mean it.” 

“I will. I promise,” Bucky says, a little breathless, before he shifts, turning around and lying on the towel belly-down. He’s not on his knees but rather, laid more flat, not the classic _presentation_ pose, but it still feels like he’s presenting for Steve anyway, and that’s… not as uncomfortable as he’d thought it might be. 

Probably because it _is_ Steve, and if he’s going to actually _want_ to do that, it makes sense that it’s for his actual alpha. 

Steve… absolutely could not have predicted what the sight of Bucky turning around and lying flat in front of him would do to him. Because it does _a lot_. He can’t even really say what it does, exactly, except that it feels like a punch to the gut (in a good way?) and like a tug under his belly button, his body wanting to fall forward and cover Bucky’s and just… rock together until they lose their minds. For a few seconds, he just _stares_ , breath caught in his throat, hands hovering in midair, until Bucky chews his lower lip, reaching back with his right hand to try and spread himself open, his cheeks red from desire and maybe a little uncertainty. 

Whatever air Steve still had in his lungs is punched out by a swift exhale at the sight. “Holy shit,” he breathes, possibly too softly for Bucky to hear, and then his body is moving almost of his own accord, ignoring what he’s actually supposed to be doing and nosing up Bucky’s spine just for a moment, dragging lips slowly until he reaches Bucky’s right shoulder, where his arm is twisted behind himself, and Steve makes himself pull back and go patting around for the bottle of lube so he can get started. 

Bucky _doesn’t_ hear Steve’s whispered exclamation, but he sure as hell feels Steve’s lips against his spine and then his shoulder and a whimper escapes him involuntarily, a surge of heat rocketing through him. He squeezes his eyes shut because his brain is screaming at him to get up and _climb on top of Steve_. And as badly as he wants to do this, he’s got enough sexual experience to know that’s not the best way to proceed. So he lies still as Steve finds the lube but fumbles a little with the cap, almost getting the stuff all over the bedclothes before he remembers to actually hold it over the towels that Bucky specifically put down for this express purpose. Then Steve swallows hard and takes one hand, definitely pretty well coated in the stuff, and slides it down the crack of Bucky’s ass until he gets to where he wants to be going, and just… tries to spread it around first, because if Bucky says he should use a lot, then he’s gonna use a lot. 

Bucky licks his lips, holding his breath as he feels the warmth of Steve’s fingers pressing against him, not trying to open him yet, just spreading the substance around, which -- good. “Good,” he mumbles, nodding against the bedspread, heart beating quick in his chest. It helps that Steve’s hand is warm, helps that the heat from his body warms the lube, too. “That’s good, Stevie.” 

“Okay,” Steve breathes, feeling a buzzing warmth, almost pride at that little bit of praise, which is silly because he hasn’t even really done anything yet. He leans forward a little more, getting as much of the stuff on Bucky as he can, before dumping more into his hand and setting the bottle down. His left hand goes to Bucky’s hip, not pressing down but just _touching_ , while he slides his right back between Bucky’s cheeks, circling his thumb around his entrance slowly before carefully, almost hesitantly, pushing inside. He doesn’t know if there’s an order to this exactly, but he figures he can use the sounds Bucky’s making -- and any actual instruction -- to get it right. 

God, he hopes so, because he has never felt so desperate and needy in his life. Holding himself still is a real challenge, in a way he’s never felt before. His body is straining to just lean forward, take Bucky, but that’s not how he wants to do this. He wants to do this right. And he wants to see Bucky’s face when he does. So he takes a sharp, deep breath through his nose, and pushes his thumb a little further into the tight heat of Bucky’s body, and tries to keep the whine that bubbles up at the feel inside his chest, instead of letting it out. “Still good?” he finally gets out, only a little garbled. 

The feel of Steve’s thumb breaching his entrance makes Bucky’s brain white out for several long seconds, a groan escaping him when it goes in farther. It doesn’t hurt, not that he minds a little bit of pain mixed in with his pleasure. He has to force himself to take a deep breath, though, struggling to keep his wits about him so he can talk Steve through this part. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘s good,” he agrees, exhaling slowly and lifting his hips just a little to push back against his thumb. 

“I can take another,” he tells Steve, knowing it’ll take more than one or two to really prepare him for Steve’s dick. This part of things is a little weird for him, if only because it’s one of those things that the books and movies always skim right over. Mostly because the media’s portrayal of male omegas is a far cry from reality. Which isn’t surprising. First thing you do when you want to convince someone of something is hit them with as much propaganda as fast as you can, and there’s decades’ worth to look at. 

Steve’s just as aware that there is really not a whole lot of instruction for people -- definitely not alphas -- on how to do this part. Which is, he suddenly thinks, a real fucking shame, because watching his thumb disappear inside Bucky is _hot_ and anyone who’s never seen this happen is really missing out. He’s sure of it. Especially as Bucky pushes back, and it’s Steve’s turn to have his brain turn into a mangled mess for a good few seconds, watching that happen -- and feeling it. 

He finally manages to come back to himself and realize that Bucky said something else. “Okay,” he breathes, twisting his hand a little, thumb catching on his rim, to see if he can slide another finger in alongside it. That makes everything hotter and tighter, and Steve lets out a little desperate noise this time, despite himself, because he can’t help but imagine how that will feel and it’s _everything he wants_ and didn’t even know he wanted -- needed -- it until right this very second. But it’s exactly what he’s been missing… and that’s not to say that Bucky hasn’t been making the past few days more amazing than Steve could have imagined. 

There’s a big difference between him doing this to himself and _Steve_ doing it for him and a soft gasp escapes Bucky’s mouth as Steve eases that second finger inside of him. 

“I should… move, a little?” Steve asks, fingers sliding back and forth a bit almost before he’s done asking, but it seems right. It’s what his instincts want him to do. It’s what _he_ wants to do, when he gets inside Bucky for real.

Steve asks him something but it doesn’t register as his fingers start _moving_ inside him and fuck, that’s -- it’s a lot. By the time the question catches up with him, he’s already nodding, humming his approval. “Yes, God, yes.” 

His voice is a little more high-pitched than it has been at any point the last three days, needy and strained. “More, Steve, please,” he manages to choke out, hips pressing down against the towels beneath him, trying to get a little friction on his already hard cock. Sweat’s already started to break out between his shoulder blades.

The sight of Bucky writhing a little on the bed is… it’s doing even _more_ to Steve, making him shudder and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s leaned over Bucky and pressed his nose the back of his neck, breath puffing out in harsh, hot clouds as he tries to twist the hand that’s now trapped under him, between them, and get another finger in beside the first two. _That_ feels more like a stretch, but there’s still plenty of slickness and he twists his hand until it fits, muscles tense with the efforts of keeping the motions slow and controlled, which is _hard_ when Bucky’s under him begging for more. 

Bucky writhes even more when Steve starts easing a third finger inside him, pumping them steadily as he pushes back against him as his fingertips graze Bucky’s prostate, a low cry escaping him. 

Steve arches a little after a moment, nosing at the back of Bucky’s head to keep him from drifting lower, to keep him from scraping teeth along his neck or his shoulder, because the urge to do exactly that is suddenly much more overwhelming than anything ever has been before in his life. “You look so good,” he mumbles desperately. “You’re so amazing, Buck.” He can’t even imagine how he’s going to feel when he pulls his hand out and rolls over and Bucky crawls on top of him. He can’t imagine feeling any better than this without something inside him bursting. 

“Is three enough?” Steve asks, his own voice a little tight and desperate -- if it’s not enough, he’s going to have to work up to four a little faster, because he really might explode, but he won’t rush into this if Bucky needs more. He won’t. He can keep it together. 

Although, “D’you want me to touch you?” He’s pretty confident he can keep himself balanced and sneak a hand under Bucky to give him a little relief. 

Bucky, flushed under the praise that Steve’s doling out, fists one hand in the comforter beneath him at the offer. He wants Steve’s hand on him, but maybe not as much as he wants Steve _inside_ of him. 

“No, no, wanna wait -- wanna --” He exhales in a huff of breath, lungs burning as hot as his entire body. “It’s enough, I’m good.” He drags in another lungful of air. “Don’t wanna come again until you’re inside me.” 

For the very briefest of seconds, all Steve hears is _wait_ , and he almost pauses -- right up until the actual thing Bucky said processes, and then Bucky goes on, says he’s good, says _inside me_ and Steve has to lean in close and let out a shaking breath against the back of Bucky’s head, just as Bucky presses back against Steve’s fingers again and then lets himself more or less collapse flat down, pulling away and turning around on the towels, pupils blown wide as he faces Steve once more. Steve sinks down with him, fingers sliding a little further in before he stills them. He’s just as flushed and glassy eyed.

“Do you -- wanna lie down or sit up?” Bucky asks. He’s never tried either of the positions, doesn’t really know which will be best, but he’s game for either if Steve has a preference. 

I wanna,” Steve starts, without actually thinking about the answer to that question. He doesn’t know if he cares, he just wants Bucky right now, right here, in his lap -- 

“Up,” he manages to decide, reaching for Bucky with both hands, not fussed that one is sticky so hopefully neither is Bucky. “I can sit up, c’mere.” He shifts his legs under him, trying to switch positions to sit back and pull Bucky on top of him all at the same time, suddenly feeling like if he doesn’t get Bucky’s chest up against his _right now_ his heart will give out. And then nobody will be happy, so he can’t let that happen.

Bucky moves, straddles his lap, going easily into his arms like he’s been doing it for his entire life and not just the last few days and weeks. He slides his arms around Steve’s neck, pressing his face against the side of his throat, kissing him there. He doesn’t care that Steve’s hand is sticky, or that his own ass and legs are. It’s just part of the process as far as he’s concerned. He can feel Steve’s erection -- long and hard -- pressed against his stomach and he pulls back to look at him before leaning in to kiss him, slow and hot and wet. 

He lets his knees dig into the mattress on either side of Steve’s hips, lifting himself up and leaning against the blond for support as he reaches between them, grasping onto his cock, stroking him a couple of times before positioning the tip against his slick entrance. Bucky takes a slow, deep breath, then starts to bear down. 

Steve is maybe both surprised and not surprised at all by the way Bucky easily clambers over him, wasting almost no time in reaching back and -- _oh_. Oh, God. 

Just the first touch of heat against the head is enough to make his features go slack. He just barely holds his body in check before his hips can jerk up -- his hands slide to Bucky’s hips and grip hard enough to bruise, but he needs something to hold onto -- he needs _Bucky_ to hold onto -- to ground him and help him remember how to breathe. His head tips forward, thunking gently into Bucky’s as he _whines_ , overwhelmed and overstimulated and it’s only just the first touches of heat and tightness. 

But it’s _Bucky_ that’s hot and tight around him, and that’s what makes Steve gasp and nose restlessly behind his ear, suddenly seeming to realize that he’s gripping too tight and releasing his grip, sliding his palms flat around Bucky’s waist, down his hips, over his thighs, trying to touch without grabbing or pulling, without stopping because he doesn’t know where to touch, how to touch, only that if he stops and grabs again, he’s going to rush this and he can’t. He won’t. 

Even with the prep and the slick, Steve is large and there’s a sharp stretch as he sinks down on the first couple of inches. But everything in Bucky responds to that whine that Steve emits, and he presses his hips down a little farther, panting as he reaches out to cover one of Steve’s hands with his own, wanting his hands back on his hips, wanting that tight grip even if it leaves bruises. “‘S okay. Feels good,” he gasps. It feels grounding while he's on the edge of flying apart. 

And then it’s his turn to make a similar noise when Steve noses at his soulmark, feeling it burn white hot -- not in pain, but with _pleasure_. 

It’s easy for Bucky to coax Steve’s hands back up to his hips; they seem to fit perfectly there, curling into the perfect shape to grasp and hold. Steve nods, nosing more behind Bucky’s ear as he does so, dragging his open mouth along Bucky’s hairline, tasting damp hair and the salt of sweat springing out on his skin. 

The relief that washes over Bucky, even as Steve’s hands go back to his hips, is immense because it’s a show of trust. He knows Steve doesn’t want to hurt him, that he _won’t_ , or that he won’t hurt him any more than Bucky signals is okay. 

And before he can really register it’s happening, he’s sinking the rest of the way onto Steve’s thick length until he can feel the other man’s balls pressed flush against him. 

Steve’s breathing hard -- until he gasps and pretty much stops breathing at all. It’s like sinking into _paradise_ , like nothing ever has been before in his life, like this is so _right_ and everything, every single second until now has just been… not quite right, before, even if not necessarily wrong. 

He can’t describe it. Couldn’t even if he tried, can barely comprehend what he’s feeling except it’s _good, great, better_ than anything else ever before. Bucky is this perfect tight, hot presence around him, and it feels like he’s got all of Steve wrapped up in himself, leaning close with fingers digging into Steve’s skin. Sweat is rolling down Bucky’s back and he’s shuddering involuntarily, marveling at the stretch and the fullness that comes along with it. He’s overwhelmed, teeth chattering as he sinks forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s shoulder and gripping onto him tightly as he gives himself a few moments to adjust, heart pounding so hard against his chest he’s sure Steve can feel it. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky whispers, whimpering. 

“You’re okay, right?” Steve mumbles, even if it comes out a little garbled. “Please -- please, you’re okay, you feel so good --” 

But he has to make sure -- he has to make sure this is good for Bucky, too. He can’t let himself go until he knows this goes both ways, that Bucky feels even an inkling (though hopefully more, please more than that) of the way Steve feels -- solidly here and real and alive and _complete_. 

When Steve mumbles those worries into his sweat-drenched skin, Bucky trails a line of kisses from Steve’s neck to his jaw and then captures his mouth in response, shifting a little and crying out, fingernails digging more harshly into Steve’s skin than he means to and Steve lets out a gasp and then a moan against Bucky’s lips; the bite of nails feels _so good_ , arcing electricity over his skin like he’s been touched with a livewire. 

“Okay. Okay.” He swallows, though his mouth feels dryer than a desert, letting his right hand settle on Steve’s shoulder, fingers brushing over the marks he’s made in silent apology. 

“Feels -- incredible,” Bucky whispers then. “You feel so good, Steve.” And he does. There’s a delicious ache that feels like it’s lighting up every single nerve ending in his body, but it’s not like before when his bones just _hurt._ This feels like completion. Like coming home for the first time in his life. He lifts his head to look at the other man, looking utterly _wrecked_ as their eyes meet and lock. 

Heat floods through Steve again -- pleased, satisfied, at hearing he feels good, at hearing he’s making _his omega_ feel good. It’s all he can do to keep from shifting his hips, but he wants Bucky to run the show, wants Bucky to show Steve how to make him feel good, even if he’s got some -- hopeful -- ideas of his own. 

But Steve doesn’t get a chance to think about it further, as Bucky pulls back, breathing shallow -- and then lifts himself up -- not all the way -- but just an experimental movement of his hips in an attempt to see if he’s ready for more. Bucky bites his lower lip hard as he drops back onto Steve’s lap, gasping as that simple movement nudges Steve’s cock right up against his prostate. 

Steve’s whole body trembles with how that feels, like sinking further into heaven, like buzzing with energy and like getting everything he’s ever wanted, even if he didn’t know he wanted it until this exact moment in time. “Yeah,” he eventually echoes, mouth feeling thick and dry, “Yeah, feels -- incredible, Buck. You’re incredible.” 

Steve leans eagerly into Bucky’s touch, nuzzling against his cheek and Bucky leans into it right back, feeling pleasantly warm all over from the praise -- that’s apparently a little bit of a kink he didn’t even know he _had_. “Like your hands on my hips like that, too,” Bucky admits. “Don’t mind if you leave marks.” Just in case he needs clarification. 

“Me, neither,” Steve breathes, squeezing Bucky’s hips gently, although if he’s got the green light, he won’t worry about squeezing harder if he loses his concentration. “Feels good. Your nails, or your teeth. Both. Everything.” Each little -- or big -- prick of pain only makes the pleasure soar higher. And he wants Bucky to know. Even if the marks won’t last, Steve wants them. He wants to feel Bucky lose control, too. 

And at that thought, Steve’s hands tighten on Bucky’s hips, knees drawing up a little and heels digging into the mattress, his body coiling like a cat about to pounce. “Let me know,” he starts, and has to stop to get his breath back, curling more into Bucky, arching closer, trying to close himself up around him, “when I can move. How I should --” He wants to get this right. He wants to get this _perfect_ for Bucky, because Steve feels so damn perfect right now, he could die. But he definitely doesn’t want to -- he wants to find out just how much better this can get. 

The slight change of position forces a quiet sound out of Bucky, and he leans in, sliding his arms around him even if the grip with his left arm is much weaker than the right. 

Steve definitely likes the feel of Bucky leaning in close, wrapping Steve in his arms; and he _definitely_ likes the sound of Bucky telling him, breathlessly, “You can move. I’m good.” 

Bucky rocks his hips forward, just a little, adding, “Just -- a little slow at first,” clinging to Steve tightly before using the muscles in his thighs to lift himself up and lower himself back down, shuddering. 

“Okay,” Steve says, and then, “Okay,” like he’s gearing himself up for it, even as Bucky’s _already_ started moving and Steve laughs breathlessly, though it dissolves into a quiet, garbled noise when their hips meet again. And the next time Bucky does it, Steve tries to chase him, tries to roll his hips upward and meet Bucky as he slides back down. The friction is fucking _glorious_ , sending heat through every inch of him, scraping over the raw, sensitive skin at the base of his cock, where his knot hasn’t yet started to swell, but he doesn’t think it’s going to take long, if this keeps up. And he wants to get in as much friction, as much motion, as he can before that happens. 

His rhythm is a little stuttering at first, a little clumsy, as Steve feels overwhelmed and almost luminous every time they come back together. But slowly, slowly his strokes start to even out, as he curls up even more on the bed, heels digging in harder and abs tensing as his hips jerk up faster, harder, slowly catching on to Bucky’s motions and starting to match them. 

Sex has never been like this before. Not for Bucky. 

He knows it can be fun, can even be a pretty great stress-reliever under the right circumstances. But it’s never made him feel like this, like he’s speeding through the cosmos, only Steve’s hands and lips and skin keeping him grounded. He’s a shivering, shuddering mess in Steve’s arms as they move together, slow at first and then faster, the drag of friction inside of him impossibly pleasurable. 

They move together like it’s the most perfect, natural thing in the world and he drags his nails down Steve’s back, nipping at his neck as he rocks his hips down hard against Steve’s. It feels like they’re coring out a place deep inside him just for Steve and the thought makes his own groin tighten. 

Steve gasps and whimpers into Bucky’s temple as he tries to heft Bucky closer, tries to get them somehow even more wrapped up in each other than they already are. He feels so close to Bucky that they might melt together -- and yet he still feels too far away, too separate, at the same time. His body itches for something more, something -- “Can I,” he pants, scrabbling at Bucky’s hips a little tighter, “turn us over? Can you -- go on your back? Wanna get closer.” 

He isn’t sure that will get them closer, but it’s sure what his body thinks is the right move. 

Bucky’s right arm tightens around his neck just a little more as he gives a quick nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.” He shifts his legs, uncurling them from their position and straightening them out so they’re cradling Steve’s hips and torso instead. He’s not sure the change in position will get them closer either, but he’s not arguing. He can’t help but wiggle his hips a little, though, groaning. 

Steve makes an answering noise, one that’s half a groan, and half a laugh. “That’s cheating,” he says, although he isn’t sure how. It just comes out, and Bucky laughs softly, too, mostly because _Steve_ does and he loves the sound of Steve’s laughter. He clutches onto Steve as the larger man uses his body as leverage to change their position, tipping them over and pulling his knees in under him to take his weight, as he braces himself with his elbows on the bed and slides down until his whole body is covering Bucky’s.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist, urging him on, dropping his head backwards onto the mattress, unable to stifle his moans at the change in position as Steve uses the change in leverage to thrust his hips a little harder, faster. 

The way Bucky’s legs are wrapped around his waist is perfect, and so is the way Steve can arch and roll and thrust his hips, picking up speed and friction he just couldn’t manage the other way around. Not that it hadn’t been great, but he’s just feeling too desperate and this feels better, firmer, closer. He isn’t sure if this really is closer but it feels _good_ , his forehead dropping to Bucky’s shoulder and his whole body working like a machine to give them more, better friction. It’s all shooting straight to the base of his cock, where it’s pooling as both relief and desperation, tangled up into one. 

Bucky shudders at a particularly hard thrust that’s angled _just_ right and he cries out Steve’s name. “Please, please, please,” he begs, not even entirely sure what he’s pleading _for_ , but knowing that Steve is the only one who can figure it out. 

Steve’s teeth scrape along Bucky’s pecs as Bucky starts to beg, and it goes straight to the center of Steve’s chest -- and then right down to his cock. He isn’t sure what Bucky wants, either, but he wants to give it to him. He wants to make Bucky forget about everything else -- about HYDRA, about his arm, about his heat, about everything, until all that matters is the two of them in this bed, tangled together. And, most of all, he wants to give Bucky the _relief_ they’ve been chasing for days now, like a man dying of thirst finally getting that cool sip of water. 

Bucky whines at the feel of Steve’s teeth against his chest because holy _fuck_ does that feel good. He slams his eyes shut, arching up and into Steve’s body, hips meeting his halfway and allowing Steve to sink deeper inside of him. Whatever bit of discomfort he’d had initially is long gone, whited out and replaced by pleasure. 

Steve moans against Bucky’s chest and shifts his body weight, speeding up his hips _again_ , trying to go faster, harder, as his right hand fumbles blindly off the bed and tries to find Bucky’s cock, between them. Bucky hadn’t wanted him to touch it before, but now seems like a good time, as Steve feels the heat building at the base of his own, as he realizes his knot’s starting to swell and his ability to thrust isn’t going to last much longer. He doesn’t actually know what he’s going to do then, but he’ll figure it out, just like everything else. Something will seem right, he’s sure. 

When Steve’s hand wraps around his dick, Bucky knows it’s going to be over with quickly on his part because his entire body is coiled tight like a spring. He sinks his fingers into Steve’s hair, tugging lightly in an attempt to get him to lift his head for a kiss.

Steve’s head goes easily when Bucky tugs at it, mouth dragging up his neck and jaw until it finds Bucky’s. He’s breathing hard, letting out little sounds with every thrust, but he gives the kiss his all anyway, fingers tightening around Bucky, sliding easily with the lube still left on them as he pulls and pulls.

There’s nothing on Bucky’s mind except the man on top of him, his thoughts and senses completely overwhelmed by everything that encompasses Steve Rogers. He can feel Steve’s knot beginning to form, starting to stretch him a little more and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, intentionally doing his best to relax his muscles. Steve’s large hand -- still slick with lube -- strokes him steadily and seconds later, hot pleasure rushes over him as he hits his orgasm hard, crying out as Steve fucks him through it.

Steve was definitely not prepared for what it _feels like_ when Bucky comes around him. The tight heat gets _tighter_ as Bucky’s body tenses, making Steve moan helplessly against Bucky’s lips as his knot starts to swell in earnest, almost as if in response. He makes a desperate sound, fingers still sliding along Bucky’s cock as it quickly gets too hard to keep rocking his hips the same way, caught inside Bucky and his mind absolutely whites out as his hips give a few more tiny, aborted jerky thrusts and Steve tumbles over the edge, almost surprising himself with the suddenness and the intensity of being _inside Bucky_ when his climax hits, taking his whole body apart from top to bottom.

Taking a knot is never the most comfortable thing in the world. Fortunately, Bucky’s so distracted by the pleasure still licking through his veins that it helps ease some of the initial discomfort. He’s trembling beneath Steve, legs still wound around his hips as he rocks against him, overwhelmed by all the physical sensations coursing through him, a soft wounded noise escaping him even as he feels Steve’s hips stutter, knot locking them together as he hits his climax. He drops his head back against the bed, breathing hard and fast. 

He strokes his hand down Steve’s back, the motion smooth and comforting, holding onto his shuddering body and pressing kisses against his hair, his temple -- wherever he could easily reach. 

It takes a while for Steve to come back to himself, still buried tight inside the heat of Bucky’s body. But when he does, it’s to soft touches and soft lips, and he lets out a sound of pure relief, something between a laugh and a sob, as his body starts to sink down onto Bucky’s, although Steve manages to catch himself at the last moment, to keep from pulling back and keep from crushing Bucky entirely. Neither of those things are things he wants, because Bucky’s right here and he’s soothing him -- he’s _soothing_ Steve and it’s working, it feels like he’s coming down off the edge, at least a little. 

He drops his head, nuzzling until he can find Bucky’s lips for an exhausted kiss. “How’re you feeling?” he asks, and he means it in more than one way -- does he feel the same relief? Is he okay with Steve still inside him? Steve has never knotted another human being -- well, of course he hasn’t, he’s never been inside another human being. He doesn’t know how it feels, and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to last, but if he can make it better for Bucky… well, it’s already so damn good for him. He wants to share that. All of it. With Bucky.

Bucky kisses him back, but unlike most of the other kisses they’ve shared in the last three days, this one is lazy and slow, without that underlying hint of _desperation._ His breathing is starting to return to a more normal rate, but he keeps rubbing his hand over Steve’s bare skin. “Better,” he says after a moment, taking stock of the various sensations floating through him. The urge to crawl out of his skin is gone -- at least for now -- and that alone is a goddamned relief. 

He nuzzles Steve’s neck with his nose, humming quietly. “You can lie down,” he tells him quietly. “It’s gonna be a little while before you can get up anyway.” He kisses his jaw, breathing in his familiar scent and feeling his own body relaxing more despite the ache in his backside. 

It’s amazing, how quickly Steve feels like he forgot what it’s like to kiss Bucky, slow and lazy -- but now he’s remembering it pretty quickly, too. Every touch of Bucky’s hand leaves warmth -- but not desperate, sparking fire -- in its wake, and even his heat around Steve’s knot feels weirdly comforting. Like he’s finally complete. Like he’s exactly where he needs to be, and everything is okay now. 

He doesn’t know if it’ll last, but he does know they should take advantage of it while they can. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, starting to settle more against Bucky, but then -- “Should I roll on my side?” He laughs a little, this time embarrassed, because there’s a lot more logistics to think about than before, even with a simple motion like rolling over. “Can I make you more comfortable? I mean --” He ducks his head, bumping Bucky’s jaw with his nose. “You feel _amazing_ right now. Better than amazing. I don’t have a word for it.” 

Bucky considers the question for a moment, then shakes his head. “Kinda like having you draped over me,” he admits, wondering if that really _is_ an omega thing, or if it’s just a him thing. He’s not sure. He feels his cheeks flush at the compliment, though. 

“Oh,” Steve says, a little wonderingly, a little relieved. “Okay.” It doesn’t take long for him to work out a way to settle down right where he is, letting himself sink into Bucky without pulling awkwardly at the knot. It feels good, pressed skin to skin like this, all along their torsos, the heat settling into Steve’s skin like a comforter, instead of a red-hot poker. 

Bucky exhales slowly as Steve’s body settles over his own, weighing him down, grounding him in a way that makes his bones feel like they’re finally quieting. “That was -- pretty amazing in general,” he adds, because he doesn’t want Steve to have any doubts as to whether he’d enjoyed himself. He definitely did. He licks his lips, moving his hand to cup Steve’s cheek, lifting his head up so they can look at each other. “I love you,” he whispers. 

Steve lets Bucky lift his head, and his eyes go soft and dark at those three simple, amazing, wonderful words. “I love you, too,” he says, without hesitation, quiet and slow but so, so sure. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, any _time_ else, with anyone else, Buck.” 

Bucky swallows hard when Steve says the words back in that very earnest way he has. His eyes grow warm and he reaches up, stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair, blinking a few times rapidly but a couple of tears spill over anyway.

“I’m okay,” he tells Steve before he can ask, voice a little strained this time. He’s just overwhelmed in a good way. 

It’s definitely good that Bucky insists he’s okay, because those tears threaten to stop Steve’s heart in his chest for a moment, twisting low in his stomach and Steve leans down, trying to press his lips to the salty tracks, kiss them away, even if it’s silly. “I always want you to be okay. I want to always make things okay. I promise.” 

Bucky closes his eyes when Steve kisses away his tears, chest aching with the tenderness of the gesture. He breathes, slow and deep, focusing on the inherent perfection of the moment. 

Steve doesn’t really need his arms to keep him up anymore, so he slips one out from under himself to reach up and touch Bucky’s face, thumb wiping at the tears on his other cheek. “You deserve that. Just in case you didn’t think so. And I promise, it’s not just the hormones talking.” 

Bucky leans his head against Steve’s, letting those words curl around his heart. “Just...thinking of all the shit we’ve both gone through to make it here,” he whispers. There’d been so many times he’d been sure that he’d never have anything like this -- because part of him was still in shock that he’d survived his kidnapping overseas. That he’d survived the recovery process. Losing his parents. All the stuff with Brock. Losing the store. 

And none of it really even holds a candle to the things Steve’s been through. But it’s not the emotional Olympics -- there’s no winner for who’s been through the worst of it. They’re both here, now. And that’s what matters. That’s maybe _all_ that matters.

“Next time --” He opens his eyes again, looks at Steve because he wants him to see that he means what he’s about to say. “I want you to do it.” He turns his head a little, showing him his neck and knowing Steve will understand what he’s saying. 

Steve does understand. Steve definitely understands, eyes going wide despite the fact that they’d talked about this. They know they both want it. There’s no reason to wait, and yet -- 

“Are you sure?” he whispers, even as he knows -- “I’m not second-guessing you. And I’m not backing out,” he adds quickly. “I just… I know what I want. It’s just hard for me to believe someone like you wants me, too,” he admits, with a little laugh, leaning down for a long, slow kiss. He doesn’t need Bucky to prove anything. He doesn’t mean to belittle that decision. He just can barely believe it’s something that might happen to him. 

There’s no hesitation before Bucky responds. “I’m sure,” he tells him, still stroking his hair absently. “I don’t wanna wait. I’m not…” He exhales. “I’m never going to want anyone else.” There’s honesty in his voice. “And if it’s what you want, too, then -- I want to be yours, Steve. For good.” Because he doesn’t even want to think about being with anyone else after the last few weeks. The very idea makes his chest hurt and he wants to burrow his face against Steve’s neck. 

And he knows that the world will see it, know he’s been claimed, but Steve isn’t like other alphas. Steve is kind and considerate and loving, and the idea of being _his_ is okay. More than okay. 

Despite the instincts rumbling happily inside Steve -- and rumbling away they are -- there’s a part of him that… 

“Would you do it for me?” he asks, barely loud enough to be heard, he’s sure, over the pounding of his heart. But he’d grown up both wanting and not wanting a bite of his own, believing that it would never happen -- that he didn’t need it -- but some deep, dark part of him wanted that. Wanted to be accepted. To be _claimed_. Now he’s the one who’s supposed to be doing the claiming, but that deep, dark part of him doesn’t want to go through life with an unmarked neck. Not if he has a mate. 

“I don’t even know if it would take, and I mean, I know it’s not -- but I want you to. If you wouldn’t mind --” He knows it will get attention. But hell, he’s Captain America. He’s always going to get attention. He doesn’t care. 

Bucky’s expression softens at the question, and he gazes at Steve, letting his fingers stroke down the length of his neck, where the mating bite would go. And it’s not conventional, but Bucky couldn’t care less about tradition or society’s expectations. Besides, the idea of Steve being just as much his as he is _Steve’s_ makes a shiver flicker through him. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” he says. It might not last, might fade quickly because of the serum flowing through Steve’s veins. It doesn’t matter. The symbolism would still be there, even if they’re the only ones who know it. “Want you to be mine, too,” he whispers. 

Steve’s body mirrors that shiver as Bucky says he’s sure, as he strokes fingers down his neck where a bite would go, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut, imagining it, imagining how it will feel. He knows he can’t scar, since the serum, but… a mating bite might be different. Maybe. He’d never asked, especially because he was going to be an alpha afterward -- he _is_ an alpha, now, and alphas don’t take bites. They give them. 

But he wants one. And the fact that Bucky says he wants that, too… well. It isn’t like Steve needed any more proof that this was the right man for him. But there it is, anyway. 

He tilts his body into the touch, and nods, eyes fixed on Bucky’s, smile clear on his face. “Okay. Okay -- then yeah. Next time.” 

Although, “Might be a while,” he realizes, face flushing, because -- they’re still locked together. Not that he wants to go anywhere, because he absolutely doesn’t, but now that his body has truly started to come down… well. His dick sure hasn’t gotten the message yet. He gives Bucky a guilty look, leaning back down over him. Maybe this is normal. Or maybe it’s just normal for him. Either way, it’s the situation they’re in right now. And it’s not like it doesn’t feel damn good. 

And it feels even better, knowing they’re going to do it. They’re going to be mates. Today. Here. Too fast or too slow, it doesn’t matter. It’s what they want, and they deserve to take it. 

“‘S okay,” Bucky assures him with a huff of laughter, pressing a kiss to his temple. The knot tying them together has already lasted longer than the other alphas he’d been with, which doesn’t really surprise him. Apparently Steve has to be super at _everything._ He lets his eyes close, just enjoying the press of their bodies together, the warmth between them. 

That warm laughter is all the reassurance Steve needs; he doesn’t know what it feels like on Bucky’s end, but if he can laugh like that, it can’t be too bad, even if it’s not comfortable. But he hopes it is. He knows he’s heard all his life about how omegas are designed to take knots, but that doesn’t mean they like it. He’d certainly never found out, himself. 

“We should probably take advantage of the down time and eat a bite,” Bucky adds, even if it’s still going to be a bit. More than food, he really wants a drink of water. He makes a mental note to lay a couple of the bottles of water on the bed before they get started on round two -- that way they’re within reaching distance when they’re needed. 

He does have a point; Steve glances up, then over at the bedside table, which seems impossibly far away right now. “Uh. We could roll?” he offers, pretty much expecting Bucky to just laugh again, but genuinely willing to try it if he wants something now. Or they can wait. His knot will go down soon. He’s pretty sure. 

Bucky indeed laughs quietly at that. “It’s okay. I can wait a bit if you can.” He’s pretty sure attempting that kind of movement right now wouldn’t be pleasant. Then again, he’s been known to be wrong about that sort of thing on occasion. 

Then he glances up. “How uh -- the positions? Were they good? Do you wanna try something different next time? Not much of anything I wouldn’t be willing to try with you,” Bucky tells him softly, meaning it. 

“They were good,” Steve confirms, with a shy little grin that says he liked it a hell of a lot and is not actually embarrassed by that fact. He’s not -- the whole point of sex is to feel good, and it _had_.

Although he isn’t sure what else he’d like to try. He knows there are a lot more ways to do things, including the more “traditional” way, with Bucky on his hands and knees, but he isn’t sure whether Bucky would like that, especially depending on how his arm is doing. “I want to try what you want to try,” he decides. “We could do it the same way. Or there are probably about a hundred others.” 

Now that shy, stupid grin is back. “I’m really flexible.” 

Bucky’s his grin spreads at that. “I might need to take up yoga so I can keep up with you.” His voice is light, teasing. 

“I like seeing your face,” Steve finally decides, because he had -- it gave him better access to kiss and nuzzle, and it definitely gave him a better rubric by which to measure how he was doing. Although he might protest that Bucky doesn’t need to do one extra thing to keep up, that he’s perfect as he is.

Hearing those words make Bucky feel that warm, fuzzy feeling again and he makes a quiet, pleased noise, dropping his gaze shyly even though he smiles. “I liked seeing your face, too,” he admits. Something about being able to kiss and make eye contact had made things so much more intimate and overwhelming than if they’d gone with the traditional position instead. He’s not opposed to trying that, if Steve wants to, at some point, be it sooner or later. 

“So it was okay for you?” Steve asks, and Bucky nuzzles his face against Steve’s again. 

“It was -- it was _amazing_ , Steve. It’s never been like that before. Ever,” he says, hushed, as he rubs his hand down Steve’s shoulder blade and back up again. 

All of Steve heats up pleasantly at that, at the combination of the words and the touch of Bucky’s hand to his back. He feels like he’s just received the biggest, most coveted award in the entire world. “Really? I mean -- I must be a little spoiled, then,” he says, half teasing, but partly not, too. This has been his only experience so far, and it was pretty mind-blowing. He can’t imagine sex with Bucky ever being anything but. 

But then, it’s hard to imagine sex with anyone else. Maybe Peggy, but Steve knows it wouldn’t look the same. And that would be okay, but then it hits him -- “Maybe it’s the soulmate bond? Or -- I mean, maybe we’re just really compatible anyway.” 

Either way, “That means a lot to me. If I could make it different. Better.” 

Bucky lays quietly for a moment, sure that the soulmate bond does make things more _intense_ if nothing else. But before he can think much more, Steve shifts as best he can, moving to slide the fingers of his right hand along Bucky’s left arm, just touching gently, almost reverently. 

Steve’s a little worried that Bucky won’t _like_ his arm being touched, but there’s nothing about it that disgusts him or detracts from wanting to touch it. It’s a part of Bucky, just like every other part, and if Steve can find a way to make that feel good, too, then he’s damn well going to try. 

The fingers trailing lightly over his injured arm do catch Bucky off guard. Aside from his physical therapist and doctors, not a single person has willingly touched him there since he’d come back from Afghanistan. His breath catches momentarily, but the touch is so light he barely feels it at all. He probably wouldn’t feel it if he couldn’t see what Steve’s doing. 

But.

Bucky doesn’t mind Steve touching his arm. He thinks he might not like it with anyone else, thinks it might make him wary or uncomfortable, but Steve is Steve, and he’s safe. He doesn’t pull away or flinch, relaxing instead, eyes soft. 

“Honestly? Think it’s mostly you. The kinda person you are,” Bucky says quietly. “You took care of me.” He kisses Steve’s forehead. And not just because he’d been willing to use lube to ease the way, but Steve had made sure Bucky was enjoying himself along the way, too. A whole lot of people wouldn’t have cared about that at all. 

Bucky saying that Steve took care of him _really_ does it for Steve, apparently; it ignites that warm, satisfied feeling inside and all over him, makes him rock his hips a little before he catches himself and makes a soft sound of apology, curling on top of Bucky a little more as Bucky groans, eyes closing momentarily even as his dick twitches a little in interest, his muscles tightening around the knot involuntarily. 

Steve gasps softly, breathing out an, “Oh. Oh, wow,” at the feel of Bucky, tight around him. He knows they need some rest between rounds, can’t even do anything, really, until his knot goes down, but that still feels so good. He briefly wonders if he could get Bucky to come again, how it would feel for them both, but he does his best to discard the thought for a moment, because there are more important things than that to be said. 

Like, “I want to take care of you,” Steve says, softly. “Not because you can’t do it. I know you can. But it’s still what I want.” Maybe it’s just that he _can_ take care of someone else that means so much. Maybe it’s that Bucky will let him. Maybe it’s a lot of other things, but it’s just about the best thing Steve can stand to hear, after _I love you_. 

“And you take care of me all the time,” he adds.

Bucky breathes slowly, knowing he probably wouldn’t want to hear that from anyone else. Because Bucky’s been taking care of himself for a long, long time now. But the idea of Steve wanting to take care of him is comforting somehow, makes him feel like maybe he’s worth something if this incredible person wants something like that. 

“We can take care of each other,” he says softly, and that truth settles into his heart, because that’s what _he_ truly wants. What he’s maybe always wanted -- and never really had in any other relationship in his life. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, agreeing, voice eager and soft at the same time. “I’d like that. Partners, you know?” No one stronger or more important than the other, but both equal. That’s what he wants.

“Besides,” he adds, after a moment, voice softer, more reverent, “whenever you touch me… well, okay, it gets me riled up for the past few days. But usually… it’s like coming home.” Comforting, comfortable, in a way he wouldn’t want to be, except with an equal. Someone who protects him, as much as he protects them. He definitely can’t remember the last time he felt like that. If ever. 

“You are my home, Steve,” Bucky whispers. “And… I wanna be that for you.” Because somehow he thinks Steve hasn’t had a home in a long, long time. 

Yeah, Steve thinks. This is safe, this is home. This is where he wants to be, and the actual physical location doesn’t matter. It’s just Bucky. 

“You are,” he says, although it might get a little lost, because he’s searching out Bucky’s lips as soon as he starts talking, kissing him slow, soft, sensual. “You _are_ my home. And you’re gonna be it. Forever.” 

And the mating bite will prove it to everyone. 

***

Actual sex seems to do the trick in satiating both Steve’s rut and Bucky’s heat, because once Steve’s knot shrinks, the two of them are able to actually do things without having to be constantly touching. They shower, make the first real _meal_ they’ve had in three days, eat said meal, drink a ton of water, play with Alpine for a while, change the bedsheets (again), and manage to watch an entire movie simply curled up together on the couch before Bucky’s skin starts to itch just a little. 

The good news is that the intensity isn’t as bad this time, and that over six hours have passed so -- progress. 

By the time Steve’s sliding into him again, it’s been nearly eight hours and he’s a shuddering mess from the fact that Steve’s been teasing him, been teasing _both_ of them, with nearly two full hours of foreplay. He’s pretty sure at that point that Steve’s mouth and fingers have been over every single inch of his skin at least twice and he’s already come three times, twice in Steve’s hands and once in his mouth, and he’s tried to return the favor but he’s been met with refusal and he wonders if Steve is trying out some theory of his own involving self-denial. 

Steve has been mostly interested in trying out the fact that he can finally _think straight_ (mostly) again, which means he can concentrate on paying every inch of Bucky all the attention he can before they both fall apart again. It’s almost kind of fun, putting all his effort into seeing how to make Bucky shake apart in the best ways, and if he stops to pay attention to his own need, he’ll get distracted and they’ll end up tied together again. And it’s certainly not that that isn’t a scenario he wants, because he does. But there’s definitely something to be said about good things coming to those who wait. He can be patient if it’ll make this even better. 

But his patience definitely has its limits, and it feels _so good_ the instant he’s back inside Bucky, like coming home all over again, like he’d said earlier. 

Bucky’s on his side, this time, head cradled on his right arm as Steve thrusts into him from behind, propped up on his elbow and leaning over Bucky so he can see his face, so that they can still kiss even if the angle is a little awkward. He’s already hard again and Steve can’t help but grin against Bucky’s cheek, putting some of that foreplay practice to use as he slides his free hand over Bucky’s hip, down low over his belly, but doesn’t go to touch him just yet. Instead, he presses his palm flat against Bucky’s stomach and tries to hitch himself a little closer, hooking his leg around Bucky’s and _oh, yeah_ , that gets them closer, gets him deeper, and this is definitely a great position, too, in his book. 

Bucky’s never really properly appreciated his body’s own somewhat amazing refractory period but he’s appreciating it _now_ even if every inch of him feels like a live wire, flayed open and _sensitive_ , including his nipples, now hard little nubs in the cool air of the bedroom. 

A moan escapes him as Steve’s leg slides around his own, enabling him to thrust deeper inside of him and he shudders, letting his left hand cover Steve’s on his stomach. For someone who’d been a virgin that morning, he’d gotten far too good at this very, very quickly. He turns his head to kiss Steve again as their hips rock together, his insides aching deliciously. He’s fairly certain that by the time their biologies cool off, he’ll still be able to feel Steve inside him for a week. 

Steve is, to his credit, a very fast learner. He’s also very dedicated to learning how to make Bucky feel amazing in every way possible, and very good at remembering what does and doesn’t work. And once he finds something that works… well, he’ll never forget it, and will absolutely make shameless use of it. Especially if it gets him to where he is now, which is snugged up against Bucky’s back, every inch of them possible pressed together, heat trapped between them and feeling like it’s almost hard to tell where he ends and Bucky begins. And that’s just fine with him. 

Because now his body is roaring with fire again, his eyes wandering to Bucky’s neck, to the outline of the bite Brock tried to make -- and that twists Steve’s stomach in an unpleasant way, making him duck his head and press his nose and lips to the skin there, that he’s been avoiding for days, but now seems like the target where all of his attention is focused. 

With his neck bared to Steve, Bucky can practically feel the way his eyes keep being drawn to the spot, knows it’s weighing on his mind the same way it is Bucky’s. 

The thing is, Bucky’s not afraid. It’s what he truly wants, and yeah, it’s going to hurt, but if it’s what makes him _Steve’s_ , then it’ll be worth the pain, the same way his knot is worth it. And part of him thinks maybe it makes him some kind of freak to think like that, that it’s almost a betrayal of how he felt omegas are treated like property. It’s a strange dichotomy, but at the end of the day he knows it’s because Steve will never _treat_ him like he’s just a thing. 

Because that’s how this should work -- they’re in it together, no one’s more important than the other, and that’s exactly why Steve wants Bucky to bite him as much as he wants to bite Bucky. They both know that being an alpha or a beta or an omega doesn’t mean shit when it comes to who a person _really_ is, and Steve would wear a mark proudly to show that he belongs to Bucky as much as Bucky belongs to him, inasmuch as anyone could or should belong to someone else. They just _fit_ together, perfectly, and that’s all a bite is supposed to do -- show exactly that. 

It’s why Brock’s attempt to bite was so offensive, because he’d tried to _possess_ Bucky against his will, and Steve wants to replace it with something good, with something Bucky wants. 

“Is this good?” Bucky finally murmurs, pressing his hips farther back and up against Steve’s groin. The position seemed kind of perfect considering their plans of a mating bite. 

Steve groans his assent and his hips roll a little harder, each motion a little more exaggerated as his arm tightens around Bucky’s middle. He knows they’ve already talked about it, but he wants to ask, one more time, just to make sure: “You still want it? This time, I mean?” he breathes. Because if Bucky’s decided he wants to wait, that’s fine, but Steve wants to know, before he gets too drunk on the taste of Bucky’s skin, the thud of his blood just beneath it. 

Bucky moans quietly, rocking his body back against Steve’s and relishing how the arm around him reminds him of Steve’s strength, of how he’s never felt as safe and secure as he does when he’s in Steve’s arms. Anchored and grounded. The emotions that flicker through him threaten to overwhelm him -- a tsunami of nervous anticipation, happiness, hopefulness. It’s something that’s been happening since they first met -- the way his brain tends to go quiet, still, whenever Steve’s around. His mind quiets, but his emotions whirl. 

“Yes,” he answers roughly, closing his eyes at a particularly deep thrust, trying to press his hand harder against Steve’s and wondering if he can feel himself inside Bucky’s body. “I still want you to. Please, Steve.” He bites his lower lip as the next thrust angles differently, hits that spot deep within that makes his vision white out momentarily with a spark of pleasure that has him moaning again. His cock is hard and leaking, which in retrospect is kind of miraculous. He’s pretty sure Steve’s already helped him reach a new personal best today. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers. “Feels so good.” 

Steve rumbles out a hum, pressing his nose harder to the delicate skin of Bucky’s neck. He wants to be _closer_ \-- is already trying to hitch himself there with his arm and his leg, pressing every inch of his body to Bucky’s, not wanting even a hair’s breadth of space between them. 

He doesn’t know what a mating bite actually feels like -- knows that sometimes pain can spark pleasure, or make it feel even better. And that’s what he wants, because he remembers vividly seeing Brock attack Bucky, has seen the failed mark from before that on Bucky’s neck since they met, and he wants this to be a good experience. He wants it to be pain well worth it, and maybe even not really pain at all. 

He feels like he’s been waiting for this for so much longer than two hours; he feels like it’ll be over too soon, but it’s not worth making either of them wait, if this is what Bucky wants. So he slides his hand down Bucky’s stomach, finally letting it reach his cock and wrap around the shaft, giving him a tight stroke in tandem with the roll of Steve’s hips. “Want it to feel good, too,” he mumbles, lips and teeth so close to where he’s going to bite. “When I do it. So I want you to come.” 

He feels a little weird, talking dirty, but he also can’t keep himself from saying it -- and it’s the truth. 

Bucky can’t help the hard shudder that passes through him at Steve’s hand on his oversensitive cock, pumping it at the same time he thrusts. He already feels like he’s walking the edge of a sharp wire, knows it won’t take him much longer before he’s spilling himself into Steve’s hand again. 

The feel of Steve’s warm breath ghosting over his neck makes goosebumps rise up on his flesh, covering his arms. It has nothing to do with being cold, and everything to do with the intensity of what’s happening, everything to do with the anticipation of Steve’s teeth sinking into his skin, biting him. _Claiming_ him. It’s not something he thought he’d want once his designation had changed. He’s always been fiercely independent, but with Steve it doesn’t feel like he’s being robbed of his freedom or his life, just… building something new. 

Something he wants desperately in ways he never imagined he would. 

“Close,” he warns, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as a whimper escapes him as Steve’s thrust hits his prostate hard, making him arch his back a little. 

“Good,” Steve murmurs, feeling how Bucky’s body is coiling tighter, arching just right, and knowing he’s definitely telling the truth. And it’s absolutely what he wants, redoubling his efforts, winding his leg a little tighter around Bucky’s and pushing up on his own arm a little to make it easier to stroke him at the same time his hips press tightest, moving faster now, feeling more frantic, feeling the pleasure building for him, too. He knows that Bucky coming is probably going to push him over the edge, too -- he’s been waiting two hours to let it happen, and it’s been excruciating and exhilarating at the same time. And now Steve just wants to let both of them feel good, without worrying about anything else, letting go right here and now and knowing they’re here for each other, to catch each other, and that is never going to change. 

His hand squeezes tighter, and his whole body feels like it’s sharpening to a single point, everything concentrated right where he’s pressed up and into Bucky. “Gonna --” he says, too, by way of warning, maybe warning Bucky both of how close he is, and how he’s going to -- 

He twists his fingers around Bucky’s cock and sinks his teeth into the skin of Bucky’s neck, hard enough to break the skin but controlled enough to make sure nothing worse comes of it, wanting to tread that perfect line between pain and pleasure as Bucky’s scent and taste wash away everything else, and his knot starts to swell again as his hips stutter and press just that much harder into Bucky. His mate. 

Bucky’s body is fraught with tension, like a tightly wound coil, and with one more stroke of Steve’s hand, with the feel of his teeth sinking into his neck, Bucky cries out Steve’s name. He squeezes his eyes shut at the pleasure that washes over him like a tidal wave, more intense than any of the other times, shaking apart beneath Steve’s hands and his cock and his knot and his teeth. 

He’s not sure what he’d been expecting to feel, emotion wise. But what he _does_ feel is… relief. Pleased relief, because he’s mated to someone as good and kind as _Steve_. He knows it’s only half of it, knows that soon he’ll return that bite with one of his own against Steve’s skin and that thought, too, makes pleasure spark throughout him, because it won’t be a one-sided bond, even if it his own mark doesn’t stick -- and he doubts that it will. 

Bucky lets himself relax into the mattress, into _Steve_ , licking his lips. He feels wrung-out. Exhausted and elated all at once, his body still shivering a little. And it’s good. He feels incredible, and he wonders if Steve can already feel that through the newly formed bond or if it will take some time. It’s apparently different for everyone. 

For Steve, it feels like the slow reverberation of a crashing tidal wave, like the flash-bang echo after a grenade. Warm, solid relief spills through him as he spills inside Bucky, this big, soft, overwhelming feeling out of nowhere, making his jaw tighten a tiny bit more before it loosens in a soft gasp, his own hips hitching up, trying to drive himself as deep within his mate as he can. Everything feels tight and bright and hot, melting afterward into slow, warm contentment, like this is exactly right. Like this is how it’s meant to be, two puzzle pieces slotting together. 

He noses at the bite on Bucky’s neck, sure it’s sensitive but he can’t help himself, pressing his lips carefully to the pinpricks of blood welling up, tasting it on his tongue. His knot is fully blown and neither of them is going anywhere.

Bucky makes a quiet noise at the feel of Steve’s lips against the bondmark he’s just made on his neck. He’s not sure, really, how he knows, but he knows that it’s taken just like he’d known that Brock’s _hadn’t_. He shivers at the feel of his tongue tracing over the wound, exhaling as Steve strokes him through the aftershocks, finally pulling his hand away from Bucky’s too-spent cock and sliding it back to his thigh instead. 

Steve sighs against Bucky’s neck, feeling slow and sleepy at the same time he feels energized, like he could do absolutely anything in the world. “Are you --?” he starts to ask, but even then, he isn’t sure how to finish the question. His fingers curl carefully against Bucky’s leg, feeling the pressure on his knot in this position, how it feels like he’s soaring and can’t come down, rolling his hips and his body closer, nearly pressing Bucky face down in the bed. 

It’s the feel of Steve thrusting farther into him, nudging against his prostate again that nearly makes Bucky seize up -- not exactly another orgasm but something damned close as he cries out, burying his face into the pillow as his dick leaks a little more fluid. He doesn’t mind being pressed down into the mattress like this -- only because it’s Steve, his _mate._ His _alpha._

Steve lets out a muffled, strangled sound as Bucky’s body goes momentarily tighter around his knot, vision whiting out as he nearly rolls his hips again, to repeat the whole thing. But he holds himself still. 

Bucky’s breathless as the pleasure begins to wind down again. “ _Steve._ ” It comes out a whimper, pained pleasure from both the bite and the sensation of being so stretched and full. 

Something twists in Steve’s stomach at the sound of Bucky’s voice, satisfaction warring with worry, warring with this weird feeling that everything is just fine that he can’t quite identify. And while he’s normally a guy that goes with his gut, now is not the time. “You’re okay?” he breathes, a little desperately, this time trying to push up a little, to see Bucky’s face without twisting too much inside him. “Buck -- ?” He just needs to know, for sure, that this was okay. That it was good. That the slow, satisfied feeling he’s got isn’t a lie. It feels real, but Steve’s managed to lie to himself before. He needs to make _sure_. 

Bucky’s limbs feel heavy, the way they get sometimes right before a great night’s sleep, and the thought of lifting his head up or opening his eyes isn’t an idea he wants to entertain. But something in Steve’s voice makes him do both of those things anyway, blinking at him a few times, his face the picture of serenity, eyes a little glassy. “I’m fantastic,” he murmurs, giving him a soft smile. 

The fact that it looks like he’s keeping Bucky from falling into a contented sleep does a lot to calm Steve’s suddenly flaring nerves. That, and the way Bucky says he’s _fantastic_ , the way he touches Steve’s hand and smiles like everything’s okay. The worry drains out of him as fast as it came on. 

Everything’s okay. This was the right move -- Steve feels it in his bones -- and his partner, his _mate_ , agrees. 

Bucky reaches up with his left hand, glad he’s having a good enough day with his arm that he can actually make it move when he wants it to, and drapes it over Steve’s hand on his thigh, squeezing his fingers as best he can. “Are _you_ okay?” His eyelids are desperately attempting to go closed again, but he forces himself to keep them open, searching Steve’s face for confirmation. 

Steve stretches just a little to brush a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, grinning a little stupidly now. “Yeah. Yeah, Buck. I’m pretty fantastic, too.” 

Then he shifts just a little to settle back behind Bucky, twisting his hand under Bucky’s left so their fingers can slide together. When he curls into Bucky just a little, like this, his nose presses just at the edge of the mating bite, still a little red and tender-looking in its newness, but there’s no more blood. Steve had only barely drawn any in the first place. 

At the smile that spreads across Steve’s face, Bucky relaxes the rest of the way, letting his fingers curl around Steve’s when he moves his hand to clasp them together. He lets his eyes drift shut as the other man shifts closer to him, and he makes a quiet, happy sound almost involuntarily. He can’t remember the last time either of them slept more than an hour or two here or there and it dawns on him that this is probably why. 

His mind and body had both been waiting for this. Had known it was on the near distant horizon, and now that it’s happened, it’s like something within him has finally settled. 

“You wanna take a nap?” Steve asks, because it suddenly hits him, too, that they haven’t had a real, solid sleep in days, and with the burning itch gone for now, just like it had the last time, maybe now is exactly the right time to rest. His knot will go down while he dozes, so he makes sure his foot is still hooked around Bucky’s, not wanting to slip apart even in sleep. “You look like you want a nap, sweetheart.” 

“Nap sounds good,” Bucky admits sleepily, rubbing his foot lightly against Steve’s, because in this position there’s only so much touching _back_ he can do, although -- 

Just to be a little shit, Bucky presses his hips back into Steve, not hard, but enough that the other is sure to feel it. 

Steve’s just starting to snuggle down when Bucky does that, making him let out a startled, garbled little moan. He can’t help the way his body arches desperately in response; he’s still half-hard, and if Bucky doesn’t settle down, neither will his dick. 

It makes him laugh, quietly, toes wiggling against Bucky’s skin as he says, “You sure about that? Gonna wake me up if you’re not careful,” in a quiet, playful tone. But he’s pretty sure Bucky’s just teasing, and he starts to settle in again behind him. “You need some rest. So you can bite me.” 

There’s a definite thrill of excitement that curls through him at that thought. Steve had never wanted someone to tie him down with a bite, growing up. But now he understands that it’s different. It’s different for him and Bucky. And as satisfied as he feels, knowing that his bite will sit on Bucky’s neck the way they _both_ want it to for the rest of his life, there’s a part of him that feels naked without a matching one. But they’ve got time. He wants it to be something they’re looking forward to, not something they’re too exhausted to enjoy. And, just like he hadn’t rushed Bucky into sex this time around, he kind of wants to let that anticipation build. 

So he snuggles down, then, sighing a soft, “I love you,” into the back of Bucky’s neck, because it seems important to say. Because he wants to say it forever. 

Bucky grins, lazy and satisfied, a curl of warmth making his chest feel loose and calmer than he can remember feeling in years. Maybe ever. And when Steve whispers those words -- _I love you_ \-- that warm feeling increases ten-fold. “Love you, too, Stevie,” he murmurs. He hopes Steve can feel the truth in that, wants him to feel all of the love he feels for him, the _trust_ , and the feeling of safety. Of happiness. 

Bucky drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.


	14. Chapter 14

As a testament to just how exhausted they both are, Bucky and Steve sleep clear through the night. When Steve wakes, the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon and Bucky is still snugged up, warm and solid and breathing steadily, in his arms. He lets the feeling of lazy contentment pull him back under, until Bucky wakes up a few hours later, and Steve follows suit. 

They’re both back to dirty, hungry, and thirsty, but at least the itching need is still a background hum, and Steve thinks it might be at a lower level than before. He doesn’t know if it was the sex or the bite or both or neither, but it feels like their respective rut and heat are finally starting to abate. 

That doesn’t mean he’s changed his mind, though -- not in the least, when he looks at the healing red bite on Bucky’s skin, brighter than the white, jagged outline of Brock’s failed mark. _This_ one looks somehow right on Bucky’s neck, makes Steve’s stomach drop in the best of ways every time he sees it and even as the two of them drag themselves out of bed and into the kitchen to eat and resupply, he can’t stop staring at it, finding excuses to touch it. Instead of sitting across from Bucky at the table, Steve drags his chair right up next to him and they eat at the same end of the table, legs and arms brushing far more than is really necessary, and he loves it. Loves that, and the feeling of relief, contentment, safety, love, still snaking through him. He’d never really thought about what a bond was, other than a thing that ties people together. But it’s so much more, he realizes; he knows a bond is an emotional tie, but hearing that is one thing, and _feeling_ it is another. It both scares him and feels utterly right, like he’d never been complete before now, every time it brushes at the edges of his perception. 

And he understands, now, why they do write love songs and romance novels and romcoms about this kind of thing. Maybe they lied about how bad heats and ruts can be, but they couldn’t come close to the depth that a real bond can give. At least, in Steve’s opinion. 

But he still feels like things are only half complete. Maybe Bucky won’t get the same thing from him, because bonds are meant for alphas to bite omegas, but it doesn’t matter. He wants Bucky to bite him, and if there’s any of that antsy itch under his skin this morning, it’s because he wants _that_ , more than anything. 

Bucky doesn’t protest any of it. Not the near-steady touching of the bondmark, nor the general close proximity. He vaguely remembers reading somewhere the touch and closeness helps the bond between mates grow stronger in the first few days after the bite. And he already feels so damned connected to Steve, so in tune with him. He’d felt it even before they’d spent the last few days in bed together, and now it’s even stronger. 

He’s been eating a little more slowly than Steve, but his metabolism is pretty far off from a super soldier’s. He has to admit that not taking the suppressants has also helped his appetite. Well. That and four days of barely resting or eating and a whole hell of a lot of physical activity. He’s hungrier than usual, suffice to say. 

Steve is very pleased to see Bucky eating more; he doesn’t need to stuff himself, but he had been noticeably not hungry not so long ago, and it’s good to see his appetite returning, even if there might be extenuating circumstances behind it. Bucky finishes off a stack of pancakes and a pile of bacon, and he’s on his third cup of coffee when he seems to feel Steve’s gaze on him, right before he speaks. 

“I guess we should shower. And change the sheets. And then I want you to do it. For me,” Steve says. There’s still a little urgency there, a part of him that wants them to do this before the hormones wash away completely and the world changes back, somehow, to normal. It feels important, that they do it now. 

Bucky hasn’t forgotten that Steve wants him to attempt a bond bite, but he also hasn’t been sure how to bring it up, so he’s glad that Steve does. He hums quietly and nods his agreement, shifting so he’s more facing the other man, left hand resting against Steve’s thigh. “Sounds good,” he says, hesitant. “How do you -- want me to do that?” 

Steve pushes his plate away a little, maybe a little more nervous than he needs to be, but the words that are about to come out of his mouth are pretty… not normal. Not that anything about them feels normal, really, and he’s told Bucky a lot of things that are as bad as what he’s about to ask. Bucky’s never seemed to judge him for it, and Steve doesn’t think he will, now, but there is always the chance that what Steve wants just won’t appeal to him. And if that’s the case, then that’s okay. They’ll do something else. It’ll be fine. 

But he definitely won’t get if he doesn’t ask. “I was thinking… we just reverse everything?” he says, in a quiet, almost hopeful voice. “You could -- I could ride you, or bend over, or whatever’s easiest, with your arm?” 

It’s maybe chickening out a little, to say it that way -- infer, without actually asking. But maybe Bucky will understand what he wants, anyway. 

It’s not at all what Bucky’s been assuming, and he feels all the air leave his lungs as it dawns on him what Steve is asking. He should know by now that he shouldn’t ever make any assumptions when it comes to this man, because every time he does, he turns out very, _very_ wrong. He loves it. 

He studies Steve, trying to determine if that’s something he _really_ wants or if it’s something he feels he needs to suggest to prove they’re on equal footing. It’s the hopeful look on his face that makes Bucky realize it’s something he actually _wants._ And -- it’s kind of incredible. It’s unheard of for alphas to want to be in the more submissive position. But Steve isn’t like any alpha he’s ever met before. He wonders momentarily if it’s something he can really _do_. 

“I -- yeah,” he whispers, eyes still a little wide. “We can do that. I’ve never… done that before, though,” he admits. “Not with a man.” He’d slept with one girl back in high school before realizing he had a strong preference for men. “And… it’s been a really long time since then.” 

He just wants Steve to know the facts before making his mind up completely, although he’s learned pretty quickly that Steve tends to make up his mind quickly and stick with whatever he’d decided on. 

Steve definitely tends to make up his mind and stick with it. And this is no exception. When he thinks about Bucky biting him… this is just what he pictures. Maybe it’s because he was an omega, or maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s not anything with an explanation at all, but it is, genuinely, what he wants -- as long as it’s what Bucky wants, too. 

“Me, either,” he says, smile teasing but still soft. “I mean, you talked me through it just fine, the other way around. So, I figure between the two of us… if it’s really something you think you’d like. If not, it’s okay,” he says -- and he means that, too. “We don’t have to do it that way. But I’d like to, if you’d like to.” 

Bucky can’t help but smile back at him, letting the idea settle into his mind a bit. He can’t say he’s never wondered what it would be like. Even thought at one point he might have a chance, back as a beta, but things just didn't work out that way. He’s okay with that. More than okay with it, really. Because if he’s going to try something new, he’s glad he gets to try it with Steve. And maybe Steve’ll hate it, maybe _Bucky_ will hate it… but maybe it’ll be just as incredible. 

“I want to,” he says quietly. “I’m really not sure what uh -- position might be the easiest in this situation, though.” He reaches up with his right hand, cupping Steve’s cheek and leaning in to press a kiss to his mouth. 

Steve’s lips part easily under Bucky’s, relief and love flooding through him at the fact that Bucky didn’t shoot down the idea, didn’t act disgusted, but instead says _yes_ , he wants to. It gets Steve’s motor running in a way that other alphas would probably find pretty unappealing, but he doesn’t care about them. He cares about what he wants and what Bucky wants. They’re the only two people who get a say. 

He hums, softly, admitting, “Me, either. Probably just… not missionary?” he suggests, with a bit of a laugh, because it’s not a big deal, after all. “I’ll try six different ways if we have to,” he adds, with a small grin, because it almost sounds a little fun, despite the desperation for a bite throbbing through his veins. He’s never really gotten the chance to be adventurous -- well, not before the past few days. And suddenly trying every position they possibly can has its appeal. 

Bucky can’t quite help but chuckle at that, too. “Yeah probably not missionary. That would just...wind up being awkward for both of us.” There’s humor in his voice, because he can kind of picture how that would turn out -- probably with Bucky falling off the bed because of his lack of steady balance. But he feels a tug of heat at the mention of trying _six_ different positions and he has to take a deep breath, licking his lips absently. 

“Standing could work, we’re almost the same height. Or you just lay back and let me do all the work.” The grin Steve flashes is mostly faked confidence, because he doesn’t know _how_ to do all the work, specifically, but he sure remembers what Bucky did, and he can do his best to replicate that. “We could just… get started, see how it falls out.” 

“I want you to be comfortable,” Bucky decides quietly. Especially since it’ll be his first time and -- Jesus -- that’s kind of overwhelming to think about. 

At that, the love and gratitude are clear on Steve’ face. “I will be. There’s still plenty of lube left, right?” Although at the rate they’re going, that might not be true a whole lot longer. But for now, it is, and Steve trusts that Bucky will take care of him or talk him through anything Bucky can’t do himself. 

“Yeah, we’re good for… at least the rest of today.” Bucky can’t quite help the way his face and neck start to grow warm. They were going to have to stock up in the very near future, because even without a heat or a rut, Bucky can’t quite imagine going too long without putting their hands on one another. Not anytime in the near future anyway. Maybe once the newness of everything settled more, but even then -- 

Well. No point in thinking about that before the time comes. Best to just be prepared so they can… be prepared. 

Steve maybe has to laugh a little. Bucky’s got a point, honestly. “I hear the future has overnight delivery. And drive-through drugstores,” he says, with a smile that’s tinged with both teasing and embarrassment. But he isn’t sure how much longer his rut or Bucky’s heat is going to last, and he also isn’t sure he wants to walk into a store with it still raging under his skin. Not that most people would notice -- the whole situation with omegas being banned from work and school while in heat is bullshit -- but even Steve can admit that lying low is not the time to challenge the status quo. 

But back to the matter at hand, “Maybe we could start out on our sides, like yesterday,” Bucky says. He might not have the best grip with his left arm, but he thinks he might be able to at least grip onto Steve’s hip enough to guide his movements. Although if they did stand, he knows they wouldn’t have to worry about it lasting long considering he doesn’t _have_ a knot to tie them together. “But yeah. We can just try a few things, see what works best.”

Starting out on their sides… God, Steve had loved the way that had felt, from his end. So when he nods eagerly, it’s certainly not for show. “Yeah. Yeah, we can start that way.” And he can help Bucky any way he needs, reaching back or rolling over onto his front or whatever it takes. Steve doesn’t care how they end up tangled together -- just that they do, and that Bucky can get teeth on his neck. 

Just the thought of it makes him shiver in anticipation, and although it’s hard, he pulls himself away from touching Bucky to start gathering up his own empty plates. “I can get the shower running, if you want. I don’t mind sharing,” he points out -- given everything they’ve done, it seems silly to wait turns for something like that. And it seems like a good excuse to get his hands all over Bucky. Again. 

Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh at that and nods. “It would definitely be more environmentally friendly to share,” he teases, rising to his feet and helping Steve clear off the table. He rinses his dishes and puts them in the dishwasher, letting his hand ghost along Steve’s back lightly as he moves past him. He’s trying very hard not to think too much about Steve, slick with soap under the warm water, but once the mental image presents itself, it doesn’t dissipate. It’s actually kind of surprising to think that with all the time they’ve spent pressed together the last few days, they _haven’t_ shared the shower before. 

“Right,” Steve agrees. “Environmentally friendly. That’s important.” Which, sure, it is. But that isn’t really the reason he wants to share. Not right now. 

He swoops in for as chaste a kiss as he can manage, fingers running through Bucky’s hair and touching the mark behind his ear for good measure. And Bucky lets that kiss distract him far more than it should, but it’s probably because it’s coupled with the light touch to his soulmark. 

Finally, Steve pulls away to start toward the bathroom. “I’ll get everything set up,” he says, like there’s anything to do but make sure there are clean towels and turn the water on. But he still wants to do it. “Come on in when you’re ready.”

It’s hard to tell whether it’s just regular old anticipation or that rut itch starting up under his skin, but it doesn’t really matter which it is; Steve is already stripping out of his shirt on the way to the bathroom, and all of his clothes end up in a heap on the tiled floor within ten seconds of entering the huge, bright room. After that, it’s not hard to pull out two of their recently washed towels or twist the shower faucet on, and the room starts to fill with steam immediately. 

Bucky watches Steve head toward the hallway, disappearing into the bedroom they’d taken up residency in for the duration of their stay at Tony’s. He feels a little breathless and he rubs his chest absently before closing up the dishwasher and starting it since it’s full again. 

Then he strides down the hallway and toward the bathroom where he can hear the water already running, as promised. He steps inside, letting the steam envelope him as he reaches down and pulls his shirt off one handed, letting it fall to the floor along with his sleep pants and underwear, pooling with Steve’s.

Steve’s already under the spray, but it’s impossible to miss Bucky coming into the bathroom and shedding his clothes. Steve might have once felt embarrassed watching, but right now it just ramps him up even more, so that he’s eager to lean down into Bucky’s touch once he steps into the shower, only belatedly remembering to reach out absently and tug the giant glass door most of the way shut. 

Bucky can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he reaches up to cup the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss that lingers this time. 

It is definitely a shame they haven’t showered together before now, Steve thinks, even if it hadn’t seemed important at the time. He’d never wanted to push Bucky into anything, but now, feeling what he thinks is the other’s eagerness and love, it definitely doesn’t feel even remotely like pushing, but like something they want together. 

Bucky’s never felt pushed into anything from Steve. Not in the least. If anything, by today’s standards, they’d taken things glacially slow even if in reality they’ve only known each other a few weeks. The timing of it all doesn’t matter, though. It never has. Because as much as they’ve been enjoying one another’s bodies, at the end of the day, he knows that what had drawn them together was so much more than anything physical, and that’s why Bucky trusts it. 

Steve’s hands drift lazily down to Bucky’s hips, looping around his lower back and pulling him closer, not at all fussed to actually start washing up yet when he could stand here and make out with his mate instead. Steve has to wonder if he’ll ever be able to do anything quickly again where Bucky is involved, but that just doesn’t seem important or worth worrying about at the moment, so he sets it aside and settles for making sure Bucky is well and thoroughly kissed before he starts feeling around one-handed for the soap. It will feel nice to get clean, and he maybe wants to be the one to get Bucky clean, even if he’s also the one who’s probably going to get him sweaty as soon as they get out. 

Bucky moans quietly into Steve’s mouth at the kiss, enjoying the slowness of it, the way it doesn’t feel at all rushed, like they have all the time in the world. He leans against the wall of the shower as Steve searches for the soap and he reaches out, taking his hand and guiding it to the little soap dish to his left, smile fond and warm. 

Steve makes a grateful sound as Bucky guides his hand over to where it needs to go -- and then promptly drops the soap when Bucky leans in and presses a kiss to his neck before dropping down onto his knees, hot water swirling around him as he reaches out, giving Steve’s cock a couple of strokes before pressing a kiss there and opening his mouth to swallow him down. 

The sound Steve lets out at that is both a laugh and a groan, his head tipping back into the spray for a moment before he manages to get control of his body enough to pull it forward again, blinking open his eyes and staring down his nose at the top of Bucky’s head, and -- “Holy hell,” he murmurs, arching just a little closer, carefully, the fingers of one hand finding Bucky’s wet hair and slipping through it, raking gently through the wet strands as all of his attention -- and most of his blood -- focuses in on Bucky’s mouth around him. “You are the best, have I ever said you’re the best? The best.” 

His other hand reaches out to steady himself against the wall, and he’ll find some way to reciprocate in a moment, but just for right now, he wants to feel this, and let it distract him, pull him under, smile sloppy and so, so in love. 

***

Bucky does his absolute best to take his time with Steve this time around, now that he’s not feeling desperate and urged on by his heat, urgency settling into a dull itch beneath his skin, just out of reach, but not nearly as bad as it has been. It might be his first heat, but it’s winding down and he knows it. He presses his mouth and tongue to every inch of skin that he can, paying particular attention to Steve’s chest and abs, worshipping him slowly and sweetly, the way that Steve has done with him the last few days. 

He pays attention to each and every noise that Steve makes when he touches or kisses somewhere in particular, and when his hand sinks into Steve’s hair to pull him in for an actual kiss, the quiet sound he makes catches his notice. He deepens the kiss slowly, scritching his scalp and discovering Steve really _likes_ his hand in his hair. Okay then. Noted. Bucky wants him nice and relaxed before they go any farther, and even after three orgasms, he’s not sure it’s been enough. 

He nibbles his way down Steve’s neck, letting his left hand rest against his chest as the right stays planted in his hair. “Turn over for me?” he murmurs, planting a kiss against his jaw. 

Steve is pretty damn sure he’s died and gone to heaven. If Bucky wants him relaxed, he’s succeeding; Steve’s body feels a little like warm molasses from the shower and all the attention, and he keeps trying to pay Bucky back but the other’s been pretty insistently, if gently, guiding things back in the other direction again. Eventually Steve had figured out that turnabout was probably fair play and given in to let Bucky have free rein -- and sure as hell hasn’t been disappointed with that decision. 

There’s so much warmth and pleasure thrumming under his skin; everything feels more _intense_ after biting Bucky. That itch of rut is still there, but it’s easier to keep at bay and Steve knows his body might have other ideas but this is genuinely exactly what he _wants_ \-- to be handled and told what to do, just once, to be asked to turn over and he nods a little, mouth open and panting, before clumsily moving to do as he’s asked, trying to shuffle around on the bed without breaking contact, even though it’s a little impossible. He feels warm and flushed and so good, he’s almost forgotten what the end goal is here -- except he really hasn’t, because it’s something he wants, anticipation curling low in his gut. “Like this?” 

“Yeah, Sweetheart. Just like that. Perfect,” Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. He slides his hands gently down Steve’s back, following that motion with his lips, enjoying the feel of Steve’s warm skin beneath him. He rests his hands gently atop Steve’s ass, then presses a kiss at the base of his spine, soft and tender. Steve’s pliant under Bucky’s touch and the utter love and trust that he feels for the man surges through him even as he reaches over to grab the bottle of lube from the mattress. 

“Gonna start opening you up, now. If anything hurts or doesn’t feel right, just tell me, and we’ll figure it out.” 

“‘Kay,” Steve mumbles, arching a little into the soft press of lips at the sensitive skin of his lower back, shuffling a little more to try to give Bucky room to work, knowing he doesn’t have full use of both of his hands. It takes him a minute -- mostly because he’s too busy focused in on exactly how strange all of this feels -- to realize he’s practically presenting for the guy, and he can feel his face and whole upper body flush at the same time he realizes he really, really doesn’t care. It’s just a position that makes sense right now. 

Bucky twists the cap off and drizzles some of the substance onto his right hand before setting the bottle aside once more, narrowing his current focus to the task at hand. He gently nudges Steve’s cheeks apart, sliding his index finger around his entrance but not trying for penetration just yet. He leans down and kisses him on his left buttcheek, shifting a little on the bed to get a better angle and then nudging his finger up against the tightly furled hole. He rubs around it, making sure it’s nice and slick before he eases his way inside slowly with one finger. 

It is weird dealing with what feels like two warring sets of instincts: Steve’s body wants to push into Bucky's touch just as much as it wants to twist around and tackle Bucky to the bed. It’s almost like how things felt with Peggy, wanting one thing but also wanting another, not sure which way to go and feeling a little torn in two completely opposite directions. 

But this is different, because Steve knows what he wants and Bucky’s trying to give it to him, and it means the fucking world. He takes a couple of shuddering breaths and tries to relax into it, nodding absently even if he’s not sure Bucky is even looking at him. “Okay so far,” he promises. “Just kinda weird, you know?” he laughs.

Bucky rests his left hand lightly against Steve’s lower back, pleased when he’s able to get his fingers to work enough to stroke him there. He glances up, though, at Steve’s words, considering. “It’s a little weird for me too,” he admits with a soft laugh. He’s never done this to anyone else before, but there’s something amazing about being the first one to do this to _Steve._ He eases his finger farther inside him, taking his time, and groaning quietly at how _tight_ he was. And warm. So, so warm. 

It’s comforting, to hear it’s weird for them both, to hear the laugh in Bucky’s voice even as he keeps touching Steve, one finger breaching him and punching the air out of him in a soft exhale. It’s not bad, so far, but Steve holds himself carefully still, wanting to let Bucky go at his own pace, let Bucky set the speed, just like he had before. Steve’s happy to follow, when it comes to this, because even if it’s the first time Bucky’s done this with a man, he still has more experience, despite the fact that they’ve definitely been bringing Steve up to speed, and fast.

Bucky glances up at Steve again, considering. “Can you spread yourself open for me, Sweetheart?” He reaches for the bottle of lube once more, glad he hadn’t bothered to put the cap back onto it. 

The command makes Steve shiver a little, almost a little glad he can’t see Bucky’s face easily without twisting around. It’s easier to just drop his head and breathe out a, “Yeah -- yeah, okay,” and shuffle again on the bed, spreading his legs wider, propping himself on one arm easily while reaching back with the other to do as Bucky asks, fingers spreading the slick around a little as he tries to figure out the best way to do it. In reality, Steve realizes he could keep himself balanced without any hands on the bed at all.

“This good enough?” he asks, feeling utterly exposed, but knowing if Bucky needs more, he’ll give it to him, gladly. His stupid alpha instincts can shut up and sit down, he _wants_ this and there’s no person he’s more comfortable feeling exposed around than Bucky. 

Bucky kisses the small of his back even as Steve moves and spreads himself and shit -- he’s not fully prepared for that and he feels conscious thought starting to drain right out of his head. He swallows heavily. “Yeah -- that’s great,” he tells him softly, lifting the bottle up and drizzling some of the slick there. The one thing he’s learned over the years is even when you think you’re using enough, add _more_ anyway. Unless your partner is just an inconsiderate asshole, anyway. 

The way Bucky’s voice sounds goes a long way toward making Steve feel less self-conscious. He’s pretty sure he’s sounded like that more than once over the past couple of days, and it fills him with heat as much as it does with pride -- and at least the latter seems to make shoving down his stupid alpha instincts a little easier. He veritably glows under the praise, feeling his body relax a little even if he can’t watch what Bucky’s doing.

Bucky spreads the lube around Steve’s hole, coating his fingers in it better and easing his index finger back in, and the glide is smoother this time. Lube is a wonderful thing. He bites his lip in utter concentration. “Ready for another?” he asks, resting his hand against Steve’s back again and gently easing him down onto the mattress once more. He knows that’s not the most comfortable position, but it is an easier one for this particular task. 

“Uh-huh,” Steve mumbles, managing another nod and he’s about to hitch his hips up a little further when Bucky presses on his back gently instead, and Steve folds down as best he can, glad that he’s as flexible as he is strong. He’s not sure he could’ve done this, held a position like this before the serum. But he can now, no problem, and there’s something in him that preens at being able to do what Bucky needs to make them both feel good. 

Of course, he isn’t sure he _is_ ready for another, but it’s the only way to keep things moving. And even though this is still weird, the anticipation and the _want_ of Bucky inside him, where no one’s ever been before, is starting to get the better of him. 

Bucky strokes his hand over Steve’s lower back when he shifts, pressing a kiss there, too, in an attempt to silently apologize because he knows it’s not comfortable _and_ it’s a very vulnerable position to be in.

The touches are soothing, spreading warmth and calm through Steve even at the same time he knows he’s supposed to be getting riled up. It’s that same tug-of-war, and he lets out a soft breath as Bucky’s lips touch his back -- just before Bucky murmurs, “Okay,” and eases his middle finger inside of Steve alongside the other. The stretch is definitely more pronounced, the difference stark, but not the way that Bucky is touching him, still slow and loving and almost reverent. 

Bucky scrapes his teeth over his lower lip as he pushes more of the lube inside Steve, deeper, even as he does his best to stretch him a little. He’s doing his best to imitate how Steve had done this for him, slow and gentle, not pushing too much too fast. But he does know his fair share about human anatomy, and he knows what he’s looking for besides preparing Steve’s body for something larger than his fingers. It takes him a moment to find it, but his eyes light up when he does, and he rubs the pads of his fingers over the dense spot before shifting, twisting his fingers and making a _come hither_ motion inside of him.

Steve lets out a garbled gasp, jerking against the bed as his cock jerks between his legs and stars go off behind his eyes, even though they’re wide open. “Wha --” he manages to groan out, even as his body tenses and arches a little, chasing that feeling, whatever the hell it was. 

“Feels good, right?” Bucky asks, voice lower than normal. He presses a kiss to Steve’s lower back again before repeating the motion and grinning when Steve bucks his hips a little. A thrill of pleasure runs down his spine because he’s making Steve feel good. He keeps it up, gently massaging the area and listening intently to the sound of Steve’s breathing. 

Steve makes a distracted little noise that very much means _yes, hell yes_ to that question. He arches back even more into Bucky’s touch, having completely forgotten about the stretch in the wake of the combination of whatever Bucky’s touching inside him, and the soft press of lips to the sensitive base of his spine. 

Bucky wishes like hell he could slide his other hand beneath him, stroke him at the same time, knowing how great that feels at the same time. “I can’t touch you the way I want to,” he admits quietly. “But this will feel even better if you touch yourself at the same time.” He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, twisting his fingers inside him a little more. 

At first, the admission makes Steve want to say something -- Bucky’s touching him just fine, everything is more than fine, it’s so much more than fine -- but then Steve has to let out a little breathless laugh, even as he’s contorting and twisting and lifting his hips just a little, one hand snaking between his body and the bed. “How many times’re you gonna make me come before you do?” he manages to tease, but it sort of dissolves into this quiet moan that, coupled with the loose motion of his elbow, indicates he’s definitely got a hand around himself, and it is exactly as advertised. 

“Dunno. Thought maybe I’d see if I could make both of us lose count,” Bucky responds without missing a beat, grin widening even as Steve moans. He’d never given it all that much thought, what it might be like to truly _enjoy_ giving someone else this kind of pleasure, but he’s definitely enjoying himself. 

“Not a bad thing to aim for,” Steve laughs breathlessly, body shifting as he finds the most comfortable way to keep his hips and ass available for Bucky and keep his hand on himself. And it isn’t long before Steve’s breathing goes even more ragged, and he says, “You can -- another, I’ll be fine.” 

Bucky nods at Steve’s words, drawing back enough to ease a third finger inside of him and return to his previous task. The squeeze around his fingers is tight, but he thinks three is all he’s going to need here, so he focuses on what he’s doing. He hopes that in the position they’ve planned he’ll be able to angle his thrusts to hit this same spot, preferably right around the same time he bites Steve. He doesn’t want any of it to hurt even if he knows it might be a little uncomfortable. 

This feels almost dirtier than anything they’ve done so far, Steve thinks, touching himself with Bucky right there, but it’s what Bucky suggested and Steve is certainly not unhappy he did. It does give him something to concentrate on the definite burn of three fingers, but he can take it, he knows he can, and he _wants_ to take it, wants to be good for Bucky, to earn that praise and those kisses, right where they light him up the most. 

Eventually his body starts rocking a little back and forth, unintentionally taking Bucky’s fingers in deeper every time he shifts back, restless, stuck between so many sensations he doesn’t know which to concentrate on. 

“So good for me, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his lower back again, mostly because he’s noticed the way that Steve seems to arch into him each time he does it as if to get closer, and he makes note to pay closer attention to that area next time. 

Steve nods a little absently, before hanging his head as his body falls back into the rhythm they’ve worked up. He isn’t sure how long it takes, thinks he might have started drifting for a while on the rhythm of hazy pleasure-pain, but everything starts coming to a point and Steve comes back to himself as his body starts to tense, as the double-pronged attack finally sends him toward the edge for… the fourth time, maybe? He actually isn’t sure, anymore. 

“Buck,” he gasps quietly, squirming on the bed, hanging his head, arching his back even more, which shoves Bucky’s fingers _right_ against that spot, hard, and oh, that’s it -- he’s gone again, shivering and shaking and spilling onto his fingers and the sheets beneath him, not caring anymore how it looks, or how he should feel, other than _good_. 

Bucky groans quietly, watching as Steve shakes apart beneath their joint ministrations. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he whispers, reluctantly easing his fingers out of him and wiping the remaining slick onto his own length. “That was beautiful.” He trails kisses up Steve’s back, stroking his spine gently with his left hand before shifting onto the mattress so he’s lying right beside him, resting most of his weight on his right arm. 

“Turn onto your side for me now?” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss to Steve’s shoulder, still trembling a little from the pleasure. “I think you’re ready. If you think you are?” The other man’s skin is flushed with a pretty cotton candy pink and Bucky is a little in awe that he’s the cause of it. He leans in closer, murmuring gentle words into his ear and placing tiny kisses on his neck. 

If Bucky putting that first finger into him had felt weird, so does the sudden _absence_ of the three he’d just had inside him, making Steve gasp as his skin sparks a little, feeling suddenly, inexplicably, empty. 

His flush is as much from the praise as the exertion; there’s something about Bucky talking to him like this that Steve _likes_ , even though he knows for a fact that anyone else trying to say the same things to him would get a fist to the face. But Bucky… for Bucky, he wants to be good. He wants to be beautiful, and if he were more inclined to consider it at the moment, he’d definitely remember feeling exactly the same way, watching Bucky as he’d let Steve prepare him on the bed. 

Steve makes a quiet noise and is quick to do as he’s asked, twist-shifting around to put his back up against Bucky’s chest, legs already spreading a little restlessly as he feels Bucky’s hot, slick length pressed right up against him, almost where it needs to be, but not quite. Bucky must be aching for it, and Steve wants him to feel this good, to feel this warm and loose and slow, to work him back up into a frenzy, to wipe his mind clear of anything and _bite him_ , make Steve as much a part of Bucky as Bucky is a part of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, breath still puffing out amidst the rapid beat of his heart, one hand reaching around to try to tug at Bucky’s hip, behind him. He hasn’t quite come down, yet -- and that’s probably the best time to do this. “Yeah, I’m good, I’m ready, want you to. Please.” 

Bucky has to close his eyes momentarily at the feel of Steve’s back pressed up flush against the front of his own body, a full body shiver rushing through him. He drops his head, resting his face momentarily against the back of Steve’s neck and kissing him there. He strokes his hand down Steve’s arm and then his thigh, resting his hand there momentarily before shifting closer at Steve’s urging. Then he reaches between them to guide his hard length to the other man’s entrance, slowly easing inside him just a little, groaning at the feel of the tight heat wrapped around him so intimately. 

Just the feel of Bucky pressed to his entrance is overwhelming; but Steve is the kind of person who runs right into the things that overwhelm him, and he’s even thinking of shifting his body and pulling at Bucky’s hip again when he starts to slip inside, and -- 

_Oh._ It’s a different sensation altogether than his fingers; tighter, the stretch sharper, but at the same time, the intensity is so much _better_ , too. Steve lets out a soft sound that feels like it’s been punched out of him, body shifting a little restlessly but careful not to move away from Bucky, to keep his body in place as much as he can, give all the leverage to his mate. That groan tells Steve all he needs to know -- and he already knows what it feels like to be inside somebody like this now, how it’s so tight and hot and good, and he wants that for Bucky, wants to give it to him, wants to feel what he feels when they do this the other way around. 

Bucky forces himself to still, though, not wanting this to be painful. His own heart is pounding hard inside his chest, breathing a bit more ragged than before. The rest of Steve’s body feels like it’s relaxed, but he peers down at him, needing to make sure he’s okay to keep going. “We good?” he whispers, sliding his left hand up to rest lightly against his hip. 

Steve nods against the pillow, fingers curling against Bucky’s hip, but trying not to pull. Then he slides it over to Bucky’s hand on his own hip, just resting his fingers over Bucky’s there. “Yeah. Good, Buck. We’re good.” The words come out amazingly clear, considering how he’s feeling. Mostly, he feels overwhelmed and _full_ and he knows there’s only more coming -- and he wants to take it. S’this position okay for you?” 

When Steve nods and assures him they’re good, he relaxes, Bucky lets out the breath he’d been holding, attention flickering momentarily to the hand that’s curled over his own. He wonders if Steve is as overwhelmed as he feels. He exhales slowly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple and nodding, giving in to his own body’s need to _move_ , to press deeper inside of him, to get closer than they are. 

“This is good,” he assures him, voice rougher than usual. “Feels -- really good.” Which is kind of an understatement. 

Steve lets out a low, quiet sound as Bucky’s hips slide closer, as Bucky fills him up and it feels like too much, but also somehow like exactly what he wants. He feels breathless and dizzy, too hot and too exposed, almost like he can’t take this, but he knows that he can. He knows that it’s what he wants, and he knows that Bucky is feeling good -- knew it even before Bucky told him in a voice that seems like it’s gone straight to his half-hard cock, which he’d almost forgotten until now, lost in the sensations of Bucky behind him, filling him up. 

Behind Steve, Bucky licks his lips and presses forward, farther, trying to angle his hips to nudge against the other man’s prostate as he slides inside the slick heat until his hips are flush against Steve’s ass. He lets out a shuddering breath, wishing he could turn his hand enough to grasp Steve’s fingers between his own. 

“Good,” Steve echoes absently, fingers tightening on Bucky’s hand and body arching as Bucky’s hips slide all the way home -- there’s an echo of that pleasure Steve had felt with his fingers, not quite the same but the angle is different, and it’s not entirely comfortable with the stretch.

Bucky’s pleased when Steve squeezes his hand, making a quiet noise of approval. He does his best to hold absolutely still, both giving Steve time to adjust to the stretch and the sensations of being filled up, but also himself, because he doesn’t want this to be over before it has a chance to get started. 

But when Steve starts squirming around and, a moment later, hooks his leg back around Bucky’s, forces him closer, Bucky _knows_ the moment that his dick presses up against Steve’s prostate. He swears under his breath at the way Steve’s entire body tenses around him, squeezing tighter than ever. 

_There_. Oh, God, yeah, that hits the spot better, Steve thinks muzzily. His whole body tenses and flushes a little more, and his dick really wakes up and starts to get with the program. “Like that. Right there. I never --” 

How had he not known that was a thing he could feel? It’s a weird relief, finding that things feel good this way around, that it’s not just omegas or even betas that can feel like this with someone inside them, that alphas, that _Steve_ , can have it, too. That sex can be good for everybody involved, because he’d always thought the idea that it wasn’t was either bullshit, or really, really unfair. 

“Yeah. _Yeah._ ” Bucky’s agreement comes out sounding a little choked off. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “Prostate,” he tells him. “It’s amazing.” 

Steve lets out a breathless laugh. “Second-favorite part of my anatomy,” he jokes, feeling a little giddy, but Bucky’s pressed _right up_ against that spot now, and the low-level buzz of pleasure is starting to get a little heady, especially as his body adjusts to having Bucky inside it. 

Bucky dips his head, straining his neck so that the two of them can share a kiss before he starts to pull back before thrusting forward once more, not hard, but testing the waters, making sure it’s not too much, not painful. He glances down then, sees that Steve’s body is responding to the stimulation and grins a little. “I love your refractory period, for the record.” 

The slow, even motion of Bucky’s hips feels a little to Steve like prodding a bruise, that weird pleasure-pain when you can’t stop doing something, even if it doesn’t feel the greatest. But that discomfort is actually starting to wane, fading to the background the longer Bucky’s inside him, whether it’s being drowned out by the pleasure or it’s actually fading, Steve doesn’t know. But if there is one thing Steve can give the serum right now, it’s the combination healing factor and adrenaline-fueled pain dulling, which seem to be working dramatically in his favor right about now. 

Well, that, and said refractory period, which makes his face feel a little hot, but it also makes him laugh a little, again, because Bucky says he likes it. “M’glad you do,” he points out, because he could see -- has seen -- how it can be a curse and not a blessing. But when Bucky approves, it seems more like the latter, more like something that’s good, that Steve can use to both their benefits. 

“Been keeping up okay, yourself,” he points out, thinking back to how eager Bucky’s body had been over the past few days. Not quite to Steve’s level, and some of that is probably heat-fueled, he knows. But it has been nice, that Bucky’s been able and willing to keep up with him for the most part, never seeming put out when Steve had been ready to go another round or three. 

Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh at that, his face growing warm at the comment about his own refractory period. He’s assuming it’s because of the heat, but maybe also because his body’s been responding to his alpha’s rut. He hasn’t given it too much thought, but it’s worked out in both of their favors as far as he’s concerned. “I gotta say that’s… new for me,” he admits, leaning down again but this time pressing a kiss against Steve’s jaw, rocking his hips against him, pleasure washing over him at all the sensations he’s experiencing. “For the record, I like it.” 

He squeezes Steve’s hand as much as he can, shifting to put a little more _oomph_ behind his thrusts as they settle into a steady pace. He presses kisses against every inch of Steve’s skin that he can reach from this angle, mostly his neck and shoulder and ear, wishing he _could_ have enough balance for other positions so he has easier access to his mouth, but this is good, too. It feels intimate even if they can’t kiss easily like this. 

Steve just hums, more than half distracted by the steady roll of Bucky’s hips, the sensations it’s sending through him with every tiny movement, everything feeling amplified a hundredfold. “Guess… we work well… together,” he eventually manages to get out between thrusts, eyes fluttering as Bucky’s lips work their way over his skin, feeling like a hot, brief point of connection every time. He arches back, trying to give Bucky more skin to work with, trying to keep the angle of their hips just right, and eventually catching onto what Bucky’s left hand is doing, twisting his own fingers to try to thread their hands together and give Bucky a better grip -- give them both a better grip. 

They do work well together. There’s no denying it, nor does Bucky want to. They simply fit together in a way that Bucky has never fit with another person before. He knows that Steve had Peggy, decades ago, but he also knows that had been different, too, if simply because every relationship is different. It just is. 

Everything about Steve feels raw and laid bare, and he knows that he absolutely wouldn’t have wanted to be in this position with anyone before. But here and now, it feels right, like Bucky’s got him, and it’s _that_ thought that gets him the rest of the way hard, gets his hips shifting against the sheets, trying to match what Bucky’s doing with his, until eventually Steve’s getting hot and itchy and he makes a soft sound, starting to tug Bucky’s left hand around his hip and get it on himself, get a little relief in tandem with the hot pleasure rolling through him every time Bucky’s hips shift back and forth. 

Bucky lets Steve tug his hand down between his legs, letting him guide things there even as he starts to move a little faster within Steve, a little harder, trying to keep himself angled so that he’s hitting Steve’s prostate with every thrust. He lowers his mouth to Steve’s neck, kissing him there softly, suckling on the skin to make a mark even if it won’t last more than a few minutes. He rocks his hips into Steve’s harder even as he guides Bucky’s hand to stroke his hardness at the same time. 

The feel of Bucky’s mouth on his neck, working to make a mark, sends sparks down Steve’s spine, making him groan and wish it _would_ take, wish he could walk around with that mark for days or weeks. Between the pumping of Bucky’s hips and their hands together on his cock, he’s almost forgotten the end goal entirely until Bucky starts nosing at his neck, and then it comes back to him in a rush -- 

The mark. Bucky’s going to mark him, for real, bite him, and Steve wants it so badly he can taste it. 

Bucky’s rapidly approaching his own climax, can feel it building much faster than usual, feels himself spiraling even as he tries to focus on mundane things to make this last longer -- thinks about books he needs to read, thinks about needing to check in with his insurance company over the store’s demise, but even that’s not helping much. “Steve…” 

Steve shifts a little, tugging at Bucky, trying to give him a better angle, better access, even as he’s tightening his grip on Bucky’s hand, helping him grip Steve tighter in return, knowing what’s coming by the sound of Bucky’s voice and wanting to catch up, knowing it won’t be hard. He finally lets Bucky’s hand go entirely, sliding his own hand to the base of his cock, where it’s tender and swollen, where his knot hasn’t fully popped, even from the couple times he came before, putting pressure there because that’s always the fastest, surest way to wring one out of him. 

Bucky knows he needs to do this at the same time that Steve’s lost in a sea of pleasure to detract from the momentary pain, knows that’s what had helped distract him from it when their situations were reversed. He’s about to ask if _Steve_ is sure when Steve suddenly says, breathless, “Yeah,” pressing his hips back to meet Bucky’s more eagerly now. “Yeah, almost there. You can -- do it. Go ahead,” and Bucky realizes that Steve’s close, too.

“I love you,” he whispers against his ear before lowering his mouth once more. He hesitates -- only for a second, thrusting into Steve a little harder before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of his neck, biting just hard enough to draw a minute amount of blood. He soothes the same area with his tongue, crying out when his orgasm hits suddenly, making him bury his face into Steve’s neck. 

Those words make Steve whimper, they feel like too much, like a physical touch right before Bucky’s hips smack into his as Bucky’s teeth clamp down on Steve’s neck, and it’s like everything inside him explodes in the most sudden, most amazing kind of way. Every inch of him, every muscle in his body locks up, like the second before a fall, and then he hears the sound of Bucky coming behind him, _feels_ Bucky twitch inside him, and that’s when he lets go, fingers clamping around his swelling knot, his own cock jerking and Steve almost doesn’t feel it as he comes -- not the same way he usually does, not so pointedly between his legs but he feels it _all over_ , in every inch of his skin, in every place they’re touching, inside and out. 

And it’s a long fall, the best kind of fall, hazing everything out except for the places where they’re connected, where Bucky’s chest is burning into Steve’s back like a brand, where his spent cock is still buried inside him, his hand still on Steve, his mark throbbing with every heartbeat. Steve has no idea how long it takes to come back to himself this time, only knows that his own chest is heaving, his own skin prickling with sweat, his knot swollen under his fingers and the most amazing, stinging feeling on the side of his neck that hurts in the best kind of way, where it’s more pleasure than pain, but what pain there is just makes the pleasure feel better. 

He’s aware of Bucky breathing behind him, tries to twist his head to see Bucky’s face, murmuring his name before he ever realizes he’s opened his mouth. 

It takes Bucky several moments to come back to awareness, as well. For a while he’s just… lost in the hazy rush of pleasure and love and warmth, and he just slumps against Steve until his breathing starts to even out once more. He slides his left hand down to rest against Steve’s chest, lifting his head slowly to look down at him. “Hi,” he whispers with a soft smile. “You okay?” 

He can’t quite read the expression on Steve’s face, but he can feel how quickly his heart is still beating beneath the palm of his hand. He shifts a little. “You wanna get more comfortable?” 

Bucky’s soft voice almost startles Steve, not that there’s any way he could have forgotten where he is and who he’s with. His face turns softer, his lips pull up into a stupid, silly smile, even as he tries to roll closer, twist up for a kiss -- 

And that jostles his fingers around his cock and his breath hitches, reminding him that Bucky doesn’t have a knot, that they’re not tied together, and that losing pressure at the base of his own cock feels a lot worse than keeping it there. “Yeah, we can --” he says, starting to roll over a little more onto his back, tugging Bucky up against him, hoping the other won’t mind, but his weight over Steve right now is exactly what he wants. The motion, of course, makes it easier for Bucky to slip out of him, and that makes Steve’s breath catch all over again, the way he feels emptier and colder, the way he still wants Bucky as close as he can get him. 

Bucky lets Steve roll onto his back and then tug him up closer. He doesn’t mind in the least, exhaling as he rests his head on Steve’s chest, laying his hand on his stomach. “That was…” He searches for the right word, but his head feels pleasantly, stupidly empty for a change. “… awesome.” 

It’s definitely a relief, once Bucky’s weight is pressing over him; Steve’s hands wander a little, touch aimless and absent, mapping out every inch of him he can reach, like he just wants to touch, and remind them both of exactly where they are. Despite the knot, he feels calm and relaxed, and more than a little pleased, when Bucky can’t come up with anything but _awesome_. It’s not a bad review. 

Bucky grins at Steve, lifting his head to look at him for a moment. “Was it okay? For you, I mean?” His voice drops a little, eyes searching Steve’s. “I didn’t hurt you, right?” He knows Steve has serum that makes him heal quickly, and he knows he’s certainly faced scary things, things that have hurt him that he’s survived, but it doesn’t mean that Bucky is okay with the idea of Steve hurting because of _him._

“What?” Steve blinks at the question, but then he grins again and shakes his head. “Nah. Not really. It felt good.” Maybe it’s weird to think so, but it had. It had made everything feel better. Feel _more_. “Intense,” he admits, “but good.” 

Bucky relaxes at the reassurance, resting his chin on Steve’s chest so he can still look at him, rubbing his hand lightly over the other’s hip. “I’m glad,” he admits with no small amount of relief. His gaze drops to where the mark is just barely visible from his current vantage point. 

Steve’s fingers slip slowly up Bucky’s spine for a moment. “I know it’ll probably just heal over,” he admits, quietly, sounding almost disappointed. “But I know you did it. And you know you did it. And we both know what it means, and that’s what matters.” 

“I know,” Bucky says, gazing at Steve intently. “And you’re right.” His voice is soft. “Regardless, it’s not going to change how I feel about you.” He draws in a slow breath and exhales before shifting to lift his head and kiss Steve on the lips before pulling back once more. “Just in case it wasn’t clear already… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Those words take Steve’s breath away, even as he knows they’re true, the other way around, too. “Yeah,” he agrees, and his grin is less sloppy, definitely softer and more directed right and Bucky’s face, right on top of Steve, right where he wants him. “You, too, you know? I’m really glad you picked me to lay one on in the middle of the street.” 

Bucky can’t quite help huffing out a laugh at that, recalling that day all those weeks ago with vivid clarity. He remembers how crowded the street had been, remembers that when he’d spotted _Steve_ it felt like everyone else had just sort of faded into the background. Like suddenly Steve was the only one who was really there at all. Somehow, it still feels to him like Steve is the only one he can see most of the time

Then Steve’s grin turns a little silly again, while his fingers keep moving up and down Bucky’s back. It’s crazy to think this all came down to chance, but maybe not so crazy at all, when he thinks about Peggy. And maybe even if they hadn’t met that day… they might’ve met some other time, given _Brock_ \-- but Steve can’t really think about Brock right now, because he doesn’t matter anymore, he’s the _enemy_ in every sense of the word. So he focuses back in on Bucky, which is pretty much where his attention wants to go right now (and all the time), anyway. 

“I feel a lot better, too,” he adds, meaning that he’s pretty sure the rut is dying down for real. 

Bucky lets his eyes drift shut momentarily as he just goes quiet, letting the feeling of Steve’s fingers against his skin sink into him, settle him even more deeply. 

“I feel better, too. Less...needy, I guess?” Less like he’s going to spontaneously combust if Steve isn’t touching him every single moment of the day, regardless of how much he’s enjoying the skin to skin contact right now. 

Steve hums his agreement -- less needy is a good way to put it, but that definitely doesn’t mean he wants to stop touching Bucky, now or pretty much ever. But there’s a difference between wanting to be close and experiencing pain and desperation when they can’t be close. 

Then his grin turns a little wicked. “Maybe you’ll just have to bite me every rut. I’d be okay with that.” 

Bucky chuckles, opening his eyes and grinning with amusement at that suggestion. “I’m not opposed.” His eyes are bright.

Steve’s grin at that stays right where it is as lets himself fall back into a lull, stroking his fingers over Bucky’s skin for a moment more before he wonders out loud, “Hey. D’you think we solved the problem? With the separation,” he clarifies, curious. “Not that I want to test it right now,” he adds, quickly, because he doesn’t. He wants to stay right here, like this, for pretty much the rest of the day, if they can manage it, even if they probably won’t. But still -- if they have, he wouldn’t complain, because being separated last time had been _awful_ , and a lot worse for Bucky than for Steve. He doesn’t ever want to do that to Bucky again, but he also knows that, much though they might want to, they can’t just simply live every day in each other’s pockets. Not with the way things are going in the world, which… yeah, this is actually the first time Steve’s even really _thought_ about the outside world in days. He guesses his rut must really be abating, if that’s the case. 

It’s something Bucky hasn’t really considered, but -- “Well. Dr. Cho did say that completing the bond should help with it. So… probably a good chance of it?” He’s not at all excited about the idea of being away from Steve for any length of time, but he knows as well as Steve does that when duty calls, Steve will have to go. There’s more to the world than their relationship, after all. And Steve’s a hero who will do what’s necessary for the greater good. He gets it. He exhales, glancing up at him again. “I don’t really wanna test it right now either.” Not at least until they’re absolutely sure Steve’s rut and his own heat really are truly over and done with for now. 

Bucky drops a kiss to Steve’s collarbone, then lays his head down there, closing his eyes. “We should probably check in with your people,” he says with a bit of reluctance. “At least see what’s going on. See if there are any updates on Natasha’s whereabouts and what’s happening back in New York.” And doesn’t he feel like a bit of an asshole for not thinking about either of those things except fleetingly, for the last four days? 

“Yeah,” Steve hums absently, but the truth is, he hasn’t thought about any of it, either. It’s… strange, honestly, like he’s finally waking up from a dream, coming back to himself, remembering that there are things going on outside this room, this house. He knows he wasn’t happy to leave, to be all but exiled here, but even that feeling and all that worry has felt far, far away for days. 

He blows out a slow breath, fingers sliding from Bucky’s spine up the back of his neck, brushing through his hair. “Yeah, we should,” he repeats, but, “In a little bit.” He really doesn’t want to move yet, doesn’t want to lose Bucky’s heat and weight pressing over him, and he might regret it later, but right now, he just wants to be selfish a _little_ longer. Just a little. “And your sister, too,” he adds, because… well, if they’re actually mated now, he figures she deserves to know. She’d want to know, even if he knows she isn’t going to be surprised. 

“Yeah. And Becca,” Bucky murmurs in agreement. He knows she won’t be surprised by this turn of events between him and Steve. Becca’s probably the smartest person he’s ever met, and that’s not just him being biased because she’s his sister. Well. Maybe a little. But he knows that she’s observant, that she’d noticed how closely they’d sat, how they’d been almost constantly touching. She had to be considering the possibility. Hell, the _probability._

“Maybe you can actually go for that swim,” Steve adds, grinning down a little bit. “I wouldn’t mind playing lifeguard. Just in case.” Granted, he knows Bucky can handle himself far better in the pool than Steve can. They both know it. But he’s not averse to watching. 

Bucky makes a quiet noise, nodding at the idea of swimming because it _would_ feel good to get in that heated pool again, even if Steve can’t join him in the water. An actual swim workout would probably do him some good. 

“Just in case,” he agrees, smile tugging at his mouth. “I used to be a lifeguard. At the Y, after school, in my senior year. And the summer. Before I enlisted.” 

Steve’s eyebrows rise, but in reality, “I don’t think I’m surprised,” he grins; it had been pretty obvious Bucky was comfortable in the water, and given his personality, the kind of person he is… no. Steve isn’t surprised. He doesn’t _really_ remember a whole lot about how Bucky had gotten him out of the pool, either, but Bucky _had_ gotten him out of the pool, and that had probably not been easy. It makes love and gratitude swell up inside him all over again, just knowing that simple fact about his mate. “I guess you probably won’t need saving, then. But maybe just to be safe.” 

“If I did need saving...there’s no one I’d trust more to save me than you,” Bucky tells him affectionately, grin soft and honest. He kisses his collarbone lightly. The day he’d had to pull Steve out of the water had been scary, mostly because he hadn’t been sure what was going through his mind, what was causing the panic. Adrenaline and instinct had taken over. 

And then, “How mad do you think Alpine is at us right now, for ignoring her?” Steve’s pretty sure the cat has been (smartly) avoiding them and the bedroom, given everything that’s been going on. But he also knows that they’ve been leaving her food and water regularly; he’s just come to know that she likes attention and she _really_ likes Bucky (and doesn’t seem so averse to Steve, either, which he can’t deny liking), and her life has been upended just as badly as Bucky’s, if not more.

Bucky laughs at the question, lifting his head to look around. Alpine is nowhere in sight. “We’ve still been feeding her so hopefully she’ll forgive us for the lack of attention.” 

“We’ll have to make it up to her later,” Steve murmurs, fingers sliding down to find the small mark at Bucky’s hairline and touch it, just because he _can_ \-- and because it’s probably less tender, still, than the bite on his neck. 

“We will,” Bucky assures him, nodding and sighing quietly at the feel of Steve’s fingers tracing over his soulmark. Instead of the sharp wave of heat that he usually feels, there’s a rush of _warmth_ , a feel of contentment. It makes him want to curl up against Steve and go to sleep in the security of his arms, except he’s not tired. That in and of itself is weird. He thinks he should be exhausted, but he isn’t. 

“Four days… think that’s a record?” Steve’s never heard of anybody having a heat or rut that long, although he’s not entirely sure it _is_ a record. But now that he can think a lot more clearly… it sure seems like a long time. “I’m not sure whether Stark would be impressed or disgusted.” Which reminds him, again, that they’ll have to call him soon. 

Bucky considers that, though. “I’ve heard the norm is one or two days,” he admits after a moment. They might really _have_ set some sort of record. But he does make a face at the idea of Stark. “But I think maybe we can spare him that detail anyway.” There’s a hint of humor in his tone. 

There might be humor there, but honestly, Steve is of no mind to let someone like Tony Stark in on their private life any more than he already is. “I think we’ll just clean really well, and leave his reaction a mystery,” he hums, settling back against the mattress, feeling warm and content, himself, a little lazy and slow but no longer itchy or exhausted or desperate, and it’s a more than welcome change. The bite on his neck is noticeable but not painful, and even though it’ll likely disappear soon, knowing it’s still there right now is one of the best feelings in the world. 

Bucky laughs quietly at that. “I think that’s probably for the best.” He rests his head over Steve’s heart, closing his eyes, more out of relaxation than anything. 

“I wish I could give you a normal life. Like this -- well,” Steve laughs a little, quietly. “Not quite like _this_ , but… something calm. Good.” He blows out a quiet breath. “When this is all over, I hope you can open the store again.” Even if the entire thing has to be rebuilt from the ground up. He thinks it would be worth it. 

Bucky’s chest tightens a little at Steve’s words. “I hope I can, too. I hope _we_ can.” He presses his lips together, rubbing his side absently. “To be fair… I joined the Army and I’d probably still be there if things had been different,” he says softly. “I’d probably get bored if things were too normal and calm.”

Bucky does have a point; he’d been regularly putting his life in danger before this, and Steve respects that. Of course he does. “I guess you would,” he agrees -- to all of it. Bucky would still be there if all this hadn’t happened, and he probably would go crazy (so would Steve) if things were quiet for too long. But it doesn’t stop Steve from wanting a quieter life, for everything that it means, or for wanting that for Bucky, too. 

“Not saying I want to see an alien horde invade Earth for my entertainment, but…” Bucky shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me, Steve. For the record. If I’m bein’ honest… kinda wish I had enough functionality that I could help out when the time comes.” 

Steve’s fingers trail absently down Bucky’s left arm while he thinks about that for a moment. “You can, though,” he points out. “If that’s what you want. Maybe not in a way you’re used to, but -- I know what it’s like to be sidelined, when you feel like you’ve got something to offer. If you want to offer something… I would be stupid to turn it down.” 

Bucky focuses his attention on Steve’s fingers. He can barely feel the movement, but he can see it. He pauses, though, growing thoughtful. “You got something in mind?” he asks, trying his best not to sound _too_ hopeful about that. In the end, he’s pretty sure he fails at it. He wants to be at Steve’s side, whether as his mate or on his team, somehow. But at his side, in general. 

He has his doubts that SHIELD will be very interested in any of his skill sets, considering he’s not really sniper material these days. And honestly, he’s not sure he can trust SHIELD anyway. Not after everything. 

Steve hums softly; frankly, he wouldn’t count Bucky out as a sniper, but even still… “You’re smart. Really smart. Becca said you think outside the box, and I agree with her. That’s always gonna be useful.” 

A smile flits across Bucky’s face in response to Becca’s compliment, but also at Steve’s easy agreement, warmth flooding his chest as Steve grins down at him softly, fingers slipping back up to touch his shoulder, mapping the skin slowly with his fingertips. “And… there are things. Parts of you. That you can use against people. Alphas… we get noticed. That’s great, until it’s not. One of the things I had to get used to was _not_ getting overlooked or ignored. It’s shitty that it happens, but sometimes, you can take that, and you weaponize it. You make it work for you.” 

Steve’s smile goes just a little tighter, if only because, “I don’t know how things are going to shake out. I don’t know if it’s gotten better or worse or stayed the same, back home. But if you want to be a part of things, then you are. One of the only good things that’s come out of this is I don’t know who the hell I’m taking orders from anymore -- which means I’m not. Not from anyone but me.” 

Bucky lets Steve words sink in, turning them over in his head. He thinks he knows what Steve means. That because he’d been a beta so long, it made it easy for him to convince people that’s what he was, which meant he could go places, do things that Steve might be unable to. 

He lifts his head up to look at him once more, drawing in a breath and nodding. “I want to be a part of things.” Bucky searches his eyes. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” His voice is sincere. Because as far as he’s concerned, Steve is the one person he knows he can trust (aside from his sister, who isn’t exactly involved in all of this directly). 

Steve can’t help but tighten his arms a little, giving himself leverage to curl up and press his lips to Bucky’s, long and slow. “I love you,” he says, softly, because that’s it, that’s really all he needs to say, it’s everything he feels about everything Bucky’s said, everything he wants to do and all the reasons for it. “We’ll figure out the best way for you to help together. I want you to be a part of this. The worst thing a good soldier can do is ignore the way the people around him feel.” 

And Steve’s not a perfect soldier, but he wants to be a good one. By those standards, especially. 

“First thing’s first, we’ll check in and see what the situation is. As soon as we’re sure we’re, uh, done,” he chuckles, softly. He’s not entirely sure whether they are, but he figures if they give it a good few hours, maybe the rest of the day, and the desperation doesn’t come back, that’s a pretty good sign. And if it does… they’ll just ride it out until it doesn’t. 

***

They spend the rest of the day wrapped up in one another’s arms, and mostly in bed. They make love several more times until they wear themselves out enough to sleep, and then make love again when they wake up, and Bucky has to admit that he could probably become a morning person if his wake-up call is Steve’s lips on his skin and his hands on his body. They fix breakfast together again, eating and then Bucky swims for a while, while Steve lies out beside the pool. 

It isn’t until almost lunchtime that he realizes he hasn’t checked his phone in days, and he figures he ought to at least text Becca and let her know he’s okay. He winds up having to plug it in before it’ll turn on -- because at some point the battery had died, which makes sense. When it _does_ turn on, he’s surprised to see he’s missed 15 texts -- all from Becca except one from his mom. He’s also missed two phone calls -- both from a number he doesn’t recognize but that comes up as Stark Industries. 

He has one voicemail, which he listens to after shooting a text to his sister that simply says, _Doing fine. Sorry for the delay. Been a busy few days._ To which she immediately responds, “ _I’ll bet._ ” He can practically see her smirk through the words and he can’t help but grin. 

He doesn’t read the text from his mom. Not yet.

Bucky presses the voicemail button and puts the phone to his ear, frowning a little as he listens to the vaguely familiar voice. “Hello, Sergeant Barnes. This is Dr. Helen Cho, from Stark Industries. I know you’re out of town at the moment, but when you’re back in New York, there’s something I need to discuss with you regarding your bloodwork. I ran some more tests and found some abnormalities that I’d like to go over with you. Please call me when you’re back in the city, whenever that may be. Thanks.” 

He pulls the phone away from his ear, knot forming in his stomach. She hadn’t sounded upset, just… perplexed. He’s not sure what to make of it, really. 

“Steve?” He glances over to where Steve is checking his own messages at the table. “Can you come here a sec?” 

Steve’s phone had been pretty much in the same state as Bucky’s by the time they’d gotten around to remembering they had phones to check. But when it had finally been plugged into the wall, it sprang back to life pretty quickly, and “blown up” is a pretty accurate term, he thinks, given how many notifications had popped up on the screen all at once. 

He’s reading through Tony’s slightly jumbled and tangent-laden reports, as well as Clint’s less-distracted updates, a frown starting to tug at his lips and a twisting starting up in his stomach as he gets closer to the present and they still haven’t heard from Natasha, when Bucky catches his attention. He glances up, not entirely sure about the tone of Bucky’s voice, but the answer is the same either way: “Yeah, of course.” 

He pushes back his chair and dutifully comes over as he’s asked, not sure what he can help with, but absolutely bound and determined to help with it, nonetheless. “What is it?” 

Bucky presses the voicemail button again and holds his phone out so that Steve can listen to the message, drumming his fingers absently on the counter as he does so and watching his face to try and read his expression. “So… that’s kinda weird, right?” He raises his eyebrows. He’s never been one to panic about the unknowns or even when things get scary, but his heart is beating a little faster than usual. 

That’s… definitely weird; Steve nods, the look on his face still thoughtful. “Do you think it’s just because you were almost in heat?” He doesn’t know if that shows up on bloodwork, but he also knows, even as he asks the question, that even if it did, it wouldn’t be _abnormal_. So Steve’s already discounted that possibility, even as Bucky murmurs, “Maybe,” as his gaze rests on Steve’s neck, distracting him with a soft touch to his neck, right where he’d bitten Steve. 

The touch isn’t like when Bucky touches his soul mark, but it’s this weird, soft, distant echo of that, sending a quiet warmth spilling through him even as he smiles a little apologetically, assuming, “S’probably gone by now, huh?” He admittedly has not really looked in a mirror yet today, not overly concerned with appearances when it’s just him and Bucky. He’s glad to be clean and likely to stay that way, but his hair is easy enough to finger-comb after a shower if he isn’t planning on going out. 

Bucky blinks a few times at the question, distracted by the bite mark there, still visible from the previous day. “Uh, actually no?” He pulls back just a little to get a better look. “It’s a little faded but I can still see it.” Which is probably weird, considering how quickly Steve usually heals. He leans against the counter, considering. They hadn’t known what would happen since there’s very little information available about the effects of an omega biting an alpha. Probably because it’s all but unheard of. 

“Really?” Steve’s stomach does this weird little swoop that’s as much confusion as… excitement, maybe. He can’t help but bring his hand up to his neck, touching where he remembers he could feel the outline yesterday when Bucky had bit him. The stinging has long since faded, and he’d assumed the mark had gone with it. But there’s the smallest hint of raised skin under his probing fingers, as he realizes he _has_ healed… but not lost the mark in the process. “ _Oh_.” 

That’s… unexpected, as much as it is welcome. He’s not sorry in the least, hadn’t asked Bucky to do it because he’d thought it would fade, but because he’d maybe, deep down, wished it wouldn’t. It’s the first wish he can remember coming true in a long, long time. “I guess we’re both a little weird, now,” he says, wondering if there are other alphas out there that know they could be marked, if they want. If this is something that could happen to other people. 

“Guess that means we’ll have to be weird together,” Bucky responds lightly. He pulls his hand back, lets it drop to Steve’s shoulder instead. He can’t quite resist the urge to shift closer and press a soft kiss against his cheek before stepping back again. 

“Couldn’t think of anyone better to be weird with,” Steve murmurs, just barely refraining from tilting his head to catch Bucky’s lips before the other has pulled away. 

“Becca sent me a ton of texts,” Bucky adds, reaching up and raking his hand through his still-damp hair. “I sent her one back already to let her know we were okay.” He hasn’t quite convinced himself to see what’s going on in the actual outside world yet, though. He knows he needs to. That they both do. 

When Steve hears that Bucky’s gotten back to his sister already, his smile stretches. “Good. I guess we probably should’ve given her a heads-up,” he admits.

“Did you hear from anyone?” Bucky’s sure he had, had seen Steve reading things on his own phone. He’s probably got at least double the amount of text messages that Bucky did -- if not more than that. 

Steve’s smile fades at that, because, “Yeah. I’ve still got a bunch of texts from Stark and Barton I haven’t even gotten to yet. But they still hadn’t heard from Natasha as of two days ago.” 

Bucky frowns at that. He’s heard more than a time or two by now about how often Natasha drops out of sight without a trace only to turn back up later. Apparently it’s kind of her thing. But considering the circumstances, it makes him nervous anyway. 

Steve’s still got two days’ worth of texts to read, but what else he does know is, “The situation is still mostly a stalemate. Nothing’s changed drastically, which is good, but… not good, too.” No one’s been able to root out the real cause of the problem, but at least the snakes haven’t revealed themselves yet. “It could mean HYDRA is regrouping. Or it could mean they’re counting on being able to find and neutralize me. And you,” he says, quietly. “I don’t like this. I don’t like hiding.” 

“So what do you think? Should we go back?” Bucky asks, because truthfully he doesn’t know the best way to approach this. Everything feels uncertain, up in the air. Going back seems like a bad idea in one way, especially if they’re looking to put Steve on public trial so to speak. But in another, Bucky doesn’t love the idea of hiding, either. And if Natasha is in trouble and they do nothing… what kind of people does that make them? 

“I don’t know,” Steve says, glancing back at the table, where his phone is sitting, still brimming with unread -- and unanswered -- texts. “Hiding has worked so far, but it won’t work forever. Things will either get worse for us, or worse for everyone, if HYDRA goes public.” Steve knows that he’s at risk if he goes back, and maybe Bucky, too. But this feels so much bigger, if people like the Secretary of State are HYDRA. Sitting here and doing nothing is so much worse, if that’s really the case. 

“I think I need to talk to Tony,” he finally decides. “We need a plan. Even if that plan is sitting and waiting, we need to know what to do if and when that goes south.” And it’s clear Steve _doesn’t_ really want that plan to be sitting and waiting, if it comes down to it. Not for much longer. He knows why they had to come out here, but this hasn’t blown over, and it won’t. 

Bucky draws in a breath, nodding, and considering his words before speaking. “I think we should go back. Obviously you should talk to Tony and your team first, but… you’re right. Us hiding out isn’t helping anyone long term. We need to figure out a plan to stop these bastards.” 

And Bucky’s going to help, one way or another, even if he’s not sure how just yet. “I can start packing things up and doing some cleaning, wrap things up here.” He squeezes Steve’s shoulder before letting his hand drop. 

Steve’s quiet for a moment, just looking at Bucky, just taking in the easy, straightforward way he didn’t try to convince Steve this was a bad idea, but just _agreed_. Just offered to help. Just promised he’d be a part of this. 

Steve’s hand reaches out to snag Bucky by the side and reel him in for a kiss almost before he knows it’s happened. “I love you, you know that?” he murmurs softly against Bucky’s lips, before he goes in for another one, a little slower, but trying to keep it chaste _enough_ that they wouldn’t end up rolling around in the bed again. “I do.” 

Bucky returns the kiss, keeping it slow and sweet as his eyes drift shut, resting his hand against Steve’s hip. It’s a long moment before Steve pulls away, taking in and letting out a slow breath. Bucky lets the kiss end, doesn’t try and pull Steve in for another even if he wants it. He knows they need to start focusing on things that aren’t just about the two of them. 

But he smiles softly, cheeks a little pink, heart beating a little bit more quickly than normal from hearing Steve say those words again. 

“If you can get started, I’ll call Tony,” Steve says. “And then I’ll help you finish up, so leave something for me to do, all right?” 

“Deal,” Bucky assures him -- and then, “I love you, too.” 

Steve grins, feeling a flush of warmth, himself, just looking at Bucky, looking at his face, and hearing those words from him. He squeezes Bucky’s side before he lets the other slip away, watching Bucky slip his cell phone into his pocket and heads toward the bedroom to start packing their things up. 

Bucky startles a little when Alpine darts out in front of him, meowing loudly. He leans down to scoop her up, pressing a kiss to the top of her furry little head and moving into the bedroom. “Gonna head home, pretty girl,” he murmurs. Even if they don’t exactly have a home to return _to_. He knows that’s another thing he’s going to have to figure out, but he also knows it’s going to take a backseat to figuring out how to stop HYDRA. 

It’s not like there’ll be a point in finding another place to live if the terrorist cell is still around. They’d probably just blow it up again. And maybe this time they’d hurt someone in the process. No. First thing’s first. He’ll think about all of that later. 

Once Bucky’s gone, Steve makes his way back to the table -- and his own phone, sighing and picking it up before deciding to just hit CALL instead of trying to read through the rest of the messages. He can just get the update over the phone, it’ll probably be faster and more accurate anyway. 

Although he’s pretty sure he’s going to get an earful for not responding for the past few days. 

“Oh, it’s _Steve_. How nice of you to call and see how I’m doing,” Tony answers as soon as he picks up. “I was starting to worry that you’d gone into another ice coma, but Jarvis assured me you and the new boy were both alive and well. I take it you’ve been having a nice break?” 

Steve definitely grimaces, but this is a regular phone call so fortunately, Tony can’t see it. “Hi, Tony,” he says, in his most nonchalant tone of voice, even though Tony can probably hear that undercurrent of guilt anyway. “We’ve been fine. Just… busy for a couple of days. My phone died and I forgot to plug it back in.” 

There is at least a small chance Tony will assume that’s just because Steve is almost a hundred years old. But that chance is still pretty small. 

Tony makes a humming sound at the acknowledgment that they’d been _busy_ for a couple days. “Relax, I’m not asking for details,” he responds with a hint of amusement.

There is something in Steve that relaxes, when Tony doesn’t ask for details. But then, there are more important matters at hand: “Is Natasha back yet?” 

“No. But I think it’s time to make a move of our own.” 

Back in the tower, Tony sits back in the chair at his desk, propping his feet up. “I’ve taken the liberty of calling in a few reinforcements. We’re going to need all the backup we can get.” 

At least they can both agree on that -- and the fact that they need to do something, sooner rather than later. “Bucky and I are coming back. I can’t hide here any longer. And he wants in, too. So that’s two of us,” Steve says, knowing it’s not a _lot_ , but sometimes it’s quality, not quantity, that matters. He still believes that. “And wherever Natasha is… she’s with us.” They just need to make sure she’s alive enough to prove it. 

“I figured,” Tony tells him, arching his eyebrows. Sitting idle for long isn’t the other man’s strong suit. It’s not Tony’s either. Might be one of the few things they have in common. 

“We can be there in a couple of hours, but it’ll be late,” Steve says, because it’s already several hours later on the East Coast, but he doesn’t imagine Tony means to start anything _tonight_. “We can regroup in the morning?” 

“Sounds like a plan to me, Cap. I’ll have your floor ready. I’m assuming you’re planning to stay here.” Considering it’s not exactly safe for Steve to go back to his own place, and Barnes’ place is _gone._

“Yeah,” Steve says, on a slow exhale, and there’s gratitude under his voice, quiet but clear. “We’re planning to stay in the tower.” There’s really nowhere else to go that makes much sense, and it is the most secure. Steve has to assume the apartment he’d been living in has been more than a little compromised. 

“Good. It’s the safest choice for both of you.” Tony’s voice is matter-of-fact. 

“I appreciate it, Tony. _We_ appreciate it,” Steve says. And then, “Is there anything I need to know before I get there?” He knows the phones are secure, but that doesn’t mean everything he needs is in all of his missed texts. “Is everyone else accounted for?” 

“I’ve got a team of lawyers tackling things on the legal side of things and they assure me things are looking favorably for you with most involved parties.” Tony considers a moment. “It’s been relatively quiet on the other front. Aside from the _world-wide_ protests. People have been taking your name up as a rallying cry. The entire world seems to still believe you’re locked away and most of it’s pissed off about it.” 

Steve laughs a little, but it’s almost more because he’s surprised than anything else. “That wasn’t my intention, but…” 

Well. Things might definitely change now, when he resurfaces with a mate and a bite on his own neck. But hey -- Steve’s never been one not to practice what he preaches. He doesn’t care if or when the world sees it. But, “Maybe I should say something. Make a statement. Tomorrow,” he says quietly. “I think that’s going to be a good first step. Let them know the truth -- what happened and who, exactly, had me.” 

Tony hums again, thinking that. It’s a bit impulsive, but considering he’d announced to the entire world he was Iron Man, he supposes he can’t judge Cap for that one. “Well, then I suppose we should all get an extra good night’s sleep because that’s sure as hell going to rattle HYDRA’s cage,” he responds. “I’ll talk to Pepper, have her get things set up. We’ll shoot for noon.” 

“I’ll let you know when we take off,” Steve says, “if JARVIS doesn’t first. You know how to get ahold of me if something comes up.” He smiles, and it’s probably audible in his voice: “I’ll leave the phone on this time.” 

Tony drops his feet to the floor. “Just try to get back in one piece by not getting distracted on the quinjet.” 

Steve snorts, but more because he has to laugh or it’ll just make the comment worse. That, and he knows Tony is still being more generous than necessary, given how many loads of laundry they’ve done in this house in the past five days. “Isn’t that what autopilot is for?” he asks, before adding, “The future is pretty great.” 

But, “We’ll be fine. And thanks. For letting us stay here. For letting us come back there. It means a lot.” 

Tony freezes mid-pace, eyebrows arching. “… Did you just make a _joke_?” There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice. “All right, I don’t know Barnes very well, but I think I like him.” He smirks, completely disregarding the thanks. Too awkward. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

This time, Steve’s laugh is a little more real. “He’s pretty great.” And, “We’ll see you then.” 

He disconnects the call, waiting a moment in the relative quiet of the kitchen before he heads for the bedroom to see what Bucky needs him to do. He sticks his head around the corner of the door frame, grinning a little, even if there’s some tension behind it, too. “Reporting for duty.”

Bucky glances up from where he’s just tucked the rest of their clothes into the suitcase they’d bought when they’d first gotten here. Alpine’s perched on his right shoulder like the parrot she’d clearly been in her former life. “Clothes are all packed,” he tells him, zipping up the suitcase. “I was gonna strip the bed and pop the sheets into the laundry.” A wry smile touches his mouth. “Again.” 

Steve can’t help but grin a little more, both at the image that greets him and at the news. “That’s probably smart,” he admits. 

Bucky studies Steve momentarily. “How’d it go with Stark? What’s going on back in New York?” he asks, reaching up to pet the cat absently. He’d heard bits and pieces even though he hadn’t been trying to listen in deliberately. 

Now the subtle tension in Steve is back. “Quiet, mostly,” he says, “which is good. HYDRA hasn’t announced that I broke out. But Natasha hasn’t turned up, either. That’s not necessarily the worst outcome, but I don’t like it, all the same.” 

Bucky searches Steve’s face, picking up on his tension more easily than usual. He supposes it makes sense considering how they’ve spent the last few days and how much time he’s spent studying Steve’s expressions. “They’re probably afraid of the fallout if they say you escaped.” The fallout from _both_ sides of the equation -- the ones on Steve’s side and the ones who aren’t. He frowns, though, at the mention of Natasha. “I don’t like it either.” He has to suppress a shudder at the thought of her being held captive because of him. Because of _them_. He worries his lower lip. 

And Steve might as well tell Bucky the rest: “I think I should go public. Tomorrow. Say something, tell people what’s going on. If I do, we’ll need to move fast, but it sounds like the team will be ready.” 

He steps a little further into the room, reaching out to pet Alpine as well. “If you still want in… then I don’t think anyone is going to stop you. Least of all me.” 

“I want in,” Bucky reiterates without hesitation. “I just don’t know how much help I’ll be able to be.” He glances at his left arm, grimacing. It’s actually been hurting today, which he thinks is weird and kind of unfair. If he doesn’t have control over his limb, he shouldn’t have to feel pain, either. “But I’ll help however I can. However you want me to.” 

Steve’s lips twitch a little, going from that grin into something that’s much more like a gentle smile. “You will be. Trust me, there’s always something that needs doing. Frankly, I think you’d be good at assessing the situation from the outside, keeping an eye on all the moving parts, if you don’t want to be the boots on the ground.” 

The problem is, Bucky very much wants to be boots on the ground, right alongside Steve, watching his back. He also knows that he’d just be a liability in that capacity. He’s not entirely sure what standing on the outside of what’s going to happen will look like, but if that’s what Steve and his team need from him, he’ll do it. He’d meant what he said. However Steve wants his help. 

Steve didn’t miss that grimace, though, and he reaches out, just laying his hand over Bucky’s left bicep, not squeezing, but just touching, feeling it under his palm, eyes on Bucky’s face. “Is it bothering you?” 

He remembers what Becca said… and how very little Bucky’s said about it. 

Bucky feels a flicker of warmth when Steve touches his arm, and it’s strange because he can’t remember the last time he felt anything resembling _temperature_ of any kind on his skin there. “It’s a little sore today.” Probably because of his swim earlier. He hasn’t really utilized any of his physical therapy exercises since they left New York. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.” He shrugs a little. 

Steve smiles softly, fingers running up and down Bucky’s arm lightly for a moment. He debates keeping what Becca said to himself, but in a weird way, it feels like taking credit for an idea that wasn’t his. “Your sister said massages helped. I was thinking… I mean, there’s the whole internet and everything, these days. I could learn how. Or I could take some classes -- when this is all over.” He pauses, eyes searching out Bucky’s face. “I want to help you, too.” 

Bucky’s cheeks grow warm at the mention of massages. He’s going to have to text Becca later. “It’s something my physical therapist recommended,” he admits. “Early on. But it’s not covered by insurance and I can’t really afford that kinda thing.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” Steve says, his smile understanding. He definitely gets not being able to afford what you need, just making do

Bucky presses his lips together. “That said… I wouldn’t say no if it’s something you _wanted_ to do? But you don’t have to go to that kinda trouble either.” He’s gotten by without the advised massages for most of the year. 

The thing is… “I want to,” Steve says. “It’s not trouble --” He leans in, reaching out with his other hand, too, to drag Bucky close, careful not to jostle Alpine on his shoulder. “Frankly, Buck, I’ll take any excuse to get my hands on you more.” 

Which is true, yes, but is maybe also a well-worn tactic that Steve understands: If you make it seem like you’re getting something out of it, too (and he is), then it can be easier for the other person to accept what you want to give them. “This is just a very specific way of getting my hands on you, and I don’t mind that at all.” 

He’ll definitely need to learn, like he said. But that shouldn’t be hard. It might take some practice, but he suspects that if he can get him in the right mood, Bucky won’t mind being the test subject.

Bucky moves closer when Steve reaches out to him, air leaving his lungs at the admission that he’ll use massage as an excuse to get his hands on him. Well, that certainly puts things into a different perspective, doesn’t it? 

And maybe part of him even knows what Steve is doing, but it’s mostly ignored in favor of his not caring. It’s not like they don’t enjoy having their hands all over each other whenever they can. Why would this be any different? 

“Well, it’s hard to argue when you make that kind of point,” he jokes, leaning in and pressing a kiss against his mouth, light and teasing. 

“Yeah?” Steve asks -- and steals a kiss of his own before he adds, “Good. That was the point of that point.” He doesn’t know how much it will help, in the long run, but it seems worth a shot, especially if Becca suggested it specifically, and Bucky’s admitted he hasn’t been doing it. 

After that, he reluctantly pulls away, knowing that if they get too distracted, they won’t be leaving for longer than they mean. “How about I help you strip the bed, and we can get together anything left in the kitchen while the sheets are in the wash?” 

“Yeah. Sounds like a good plan,” Bucky agrees easily, even if he’d rather push Steve down onto said bedsheets and make sure they’re there for _much_ longer than intended. He doesn’t, because he’s not an animal devoid of impulse control. He picks up the suitcase off the mattress and then sets it on the ground before moving to the opposite side of the bed to start stripping it. 

“I assume we’re gonna head to the tower?” He can’t imagine there’s a better place for the two of them to stay where they can be safe. 

Steve nods. “I honestly can’t imagine that my apartment -- which SHIELD helped me find -- isn’t compromised.” And he _doesn’t_ mention what they both know already -- that Bucky’s home is definitely compromised… right out of existence. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Truthfully Bucky wouldn’t be entirely surprised if HYDRA had blown up _Steve’s_ apartment now, as well. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of limits on what they’re willing to do to get what they want. 

“The Tower’s the safest place and I… kinda have a whole floor we can use. I mean, it’s basically an apartment,” Steve goes on, a little rushed, as he pulls the sheets off the bed with Bucky’s help. “Way fancier than anything I need, but it’s enough room for the three of us.” Because Alpine is definitely included. “We should make sure to bring her things.” Not that he thinks Tony couldn’t or wouldn’t get more, but that seems silly when they have things for her already. 

Bucky does pause at the mention of Steve having an entire _floor_. Then again -- given the place they’ve been staying for the last few days, he probably shouldn’t be surprised. 

“I’m sure it’s fine, Steve,” he assures him. He offers him a small smile, sighing when Alpine jumps off his shoulder and curls up in the middle of the mattress. He shakes his head at her, but leaves her alone since they’ve already stripped the sheets off anyway. 

Steve’s smile back is a little self-conscious, but he guesses in the end, he’d rather have too much room for the three of them, over not enough. Alpine will probably enjoy exploring, at any rate, and the bed isn’t _this_ big… but it had always been bigger than Steve had thought he needed. Maybe now he can see the appeal, even if there’s a part of him that really misses Bucky’s small, enclosed bed. It had felt safer than anywhere else he’s slept in a long time. 

Bucky misses that small bed, too. Mostly because it had always resulted in the two of them curled around each other, entwined to the point he’d never been sure where he started and Steve ended. The big bed here is nice, and he’s not complaining about any of the time they’d spent in it, but it’s still different. 

“We can meet with everyone tomorrow, figure out the best plan of attack,” Steve adds, because he wants Bucky to be a part of that, and doesn’t want to even insinuate otherwise. 

“Stark and Barton?” Bucky asks, not sure if any of the other Avengers are going to be there or not. 

“At least,” Steve confirms. “I don’t know that Banner would come out for this… not that he wouldn’t want to put a stop to it, but he’s not subtle. And compared to Tony… that’s saying a lot,” he adds, with a soft laugh. “Thor was offworld last I heard, but I could be wrong. Tony had said he was calling in reinforcements, so there must be other people he trusts.” He pauses. “I don’t believe everyone at SHIELD was working for the wrong team. There might be some people we can trust, there, too.” 

He tugs gently, trying to get Bucky to let him ball up the sheets and follow him to the washer as he puts them in. “I guess we’ll find out. We aren’t going to outnumber them, either way. So we’ll just need a different strategy.” 

Banner. Otherwise known as the Hulk. Bucky’s not sure if that’d be good or not. He supposes they could always just point him directly at Secretary Pierce and let him smash. It’s the least of what the bastard deserves as far as he’s concerned. And Thor -- he hasn’t actually given much thought to that one. Literal God of Thunder is a little hard to wrap his mind around. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he agrees, letting Steve gather the sheets even as he scoops Alpine up in his arms and follows him down the hall toward the laundry room. 

Steve would not really be against turning Pierce alone in a room with the Hulk. Or Rumlow. But frankly, it isn’t fair -- mostly to Banner, knowing how the man is -- and it can’t be how things are done. They’re better than HYDRA. So they have to be better. 

Even if a guy can daydream. He believes in justice, but he’s still just a person who doesn’t always want to give people second chances, sometimes. Not people like the ones they’re going to be facing. 

“We will. I know everyone Tony has called will be people we can trust. And I know Natasha, wherever she is, counts among them, too,” he says, once the sheets are in the machine and it’s spinning away. “And going as public as possible is actually our best option. HYDRA doesn’t like to be public. Not at this stage of things. They crawl in quietly, get their claws in, do things behind people’s backs, because they believe in order through control, but they know people don’t _like_ to be controlled. The more light we can shine on them, the better. So that’s what we’ll do.” 

Bucky listens intently, relaxing a little as some of his worry eases. “You think you getting in front of the cameras to say you’re not in custody anymore will draw them out of hiding?” he asks, leaning against the wall and stroking his fingers through Alpine’s fur. 

He wonders just how secure Stark Tower is, ultimately. If it could withstand an attack that might get launched against it from HYDRA. Then again, it _had_ withstood an actual attack from aliens, so there’s probably not much HYDRA could do to hurt it. 

“I think getting in front of the cameras to say why I was really in custody, and who was holding me, will draw them out, yeah,” Steve says, his smile crooked and wry. “I think honesty is the best policy, here. I don’t know what my reputation is even like, anymore, but Tony says, based on the news… it might not be as bad off as HYDRA wishes.” 

Not if people are calling for his release and using his name as a rallying cry. Honestly… he couldn’t have asked for anything better. 

Bucky’s sure that’s probably true. And from the rally videos he’d seen a few days ago, calling for the immediate release of Captain America, he has a sneaking suspicion that Tony’s correct and this has backfired on HYDRA somewhat spectacularly. 

“If that’s what you think is best, then that’s what we’ll do.” He reaches out for Steve’s hand, leading him down the hall and toward the kitchen so they can start finishing cleanup in there, as well. He’s quiet for a moment. “My mom texted me.” 

Steve _doesn’t_ expect Bucky to say that. He’s just started opening one cabinet and he pauses, glancing over at Bucky, knowing by now that that… isn’t normal. And possibly isn’t good… but, he tries to think, possibly is. “What did she say?”

Bucky picks up a couple of the plates from the dishwasher, stacking them together and sliding them into a cabinet. “Just asked me to call her when I had a chance.” He presses his lips together. “Kind of assuming it either means she’s talked to Becca and found out about the store or she’s found out about the store some other way.” He doubts it made the news, but who knows? He rubs at his chest absently before moving to grab more of the dishes to put away. 

Steve frowns a little, pulling out the cat food they’d gotten for Alpine so they can pack it while Bucky empties the dishwasher. “I guess that makes sense,” he says, because he isn’t sure how Bucky’s mother would have found out, but there are a number of ways, and all of them do make sense. “Do you want to do that before we leave?” 

And then, “I don’t have to be around, if you want to talk to her alone. I can get things together here if you want to go outside, maybe sit by the pool?” He isn’t sure Bucky wants an audience, even though Steve will absolutely be here if that’s what Bucky prefers. “Or -- if you want me around, I can do that, too.” 

But he knows that some things are best done sooner rather than later. And this might be one of those things.

“Honestly? I’m not sure I even want to bother,” Bucky admits, not quite able to look at Steve. He feels a surge of guilt, because he knows if Steve had another chance to talk to his mom, he’d jump on it without hesitation. He wonders if he’s making a mistake if he just ignores the text because maybe something is _wrong_ and she needs help. She _is_ still his mother. 

But she hasn’t responded to any of the half a dozen texts he’s sent her since he’d been released from the hospital months ago and maybe at the end of the day part of him is just incredibly petty and bitter. He slides a few more plates into place. “Do you think that makes me a bad person?” 

“What? No,” Steve says quickly, turning away from the cabinet. “I don’t. I think she hurt you, and I can’t tell you how to feel about it. I just know that you won’t know what she wants until you ask her. But you don’t have to do it now. Or ever.” 

Maybe Steve wouldn’t turn down a chance to talk to his own mother, but things had been very different between them. He _doesn’t_ like what Bucky’s mother or father did to him, and if Bucky is happier with them out of his life… well, Steve wants to believe that Bucky knows when he’s happy and when he’s not. He doesn’t want to tell Bucky what to do. “Did you tell your sister?” 

He hates to heap this on Becca, but she’d sounded like a good middle ground. It’s not fair to ask her to go between Bucky and their mother all the time, but this might be a reasonable extenuating circumstance. 

Bucky’s chest tightens at the quick response and he turns to look at him, holding his breath. The unwavering support from Steve regardless of whatever decision he makes is overwhelming in a good way. He blinks a few times, rapidly, to try and clear his suddenly blurry vision. “I didn’t mention it to Becca,” he confesses. 

“Do you want me to tell her?” Steve asks, thinking of his own phone. “Ask her what I should tell you to do?” _He_ can play go-between, if it helps. 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll just send my mom a text,” he says, considering. “Just ask if things are okay.” Then again, she might immediately respond by calling him and he’s not sure he’s ready for that possibility. Especially not right before a big battle of some kind. He doesn’t need to be distracted. “I’ll just tell her I can’t talk right now but see if she’s all right.” At least then maybe he can gauge what her sudden desire for communication with him is about. 

Whatever crosses Bucky’s face, it makes Steve’s feet start moving before he even thinks about it. He needs to stand closer to Bucky right now, so that’s simply what he does. “That’s fine,” he says, because it is -- whatever Bucky decides, it’s fine. “I know it’s not the best time to talk,” he adds, smiling a little guiltily. But he gets that. Sometimes you just can’t let yourself get distracted. And sometimes you need to have something to do on the other side of things, to help you get through. He isn’t sure that’s what this is for Bucky, but he wouldn’t judge if it is. 

“I think that’s a good compromise,” he says, one hand winding around Bucky’s waist. “I think knowing she’s all right is what matters.” Because even if Bucky’s mother has wronged him, Steve’s pretty sure there’s still a part of Bucky that loves her. God knows you can love someone and be angry with them at the same time. “And if you change your mind afterward, then that’s fine, too.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips. “I’ll stay out of it if you want. This is your family. I get that. I don’t know what they’re like -- except your sister, and that’s all I need.” 

“I don’t want you to stay out of it,” Bucky tells him, leaning into the warm length of his body. “And _you_ are my family, Steve. More than my parents are at this point.” By a lot. Steve’s opinion matters to him. And he’s right. Despite everything, Bucky still loves his mom even if he doesn’t know that they’ll ever have any sort of real relationship again. She’s still the woman who’d taken care of him when he’d been sick, who’d read him bedtime stories and baked him cupcakes. And he’s always thought that if it hadn’t been for his dad, that he’d still be a lot closer to her than he has been through the years. 

Honestly, hearing Bucky say that makes every inch of Steve feel warm. _Being_ with Bucky makes him feel warm, makes him feel wanted in a way that he hasn’t in a long time. And it both is and isn’t surprising to realize that he hasn’t felt alone in weeks… pretty much since the day he met Bucky. And Steve has a feeling that he won’t have to feel that way again -- and there’s no way he could ever thank Bucky enough for it, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try. 

Bucky draws in a slow breath. “All right. I’m gonna shoot her a text.” She probably won’t bother responding, but he figures he owes her that much, at least. 

Steve nods, one hand sliding up through Bucky’s hair, gently, for support. “Okay. Whatever she says… now, or later, you know you’ve got me. Me, and Becca, because I’m pretty sure she’d bury me in a shallow grave if I ever did something wrong by you.” 

It’s dumb -- but it’s true. And maybe Bucky needs to laugh, as much as he needs to hear it. 

Bucky feels a momentary flash of an emotion he can’t identify but it’s gone as quick as it rises, and he leans his head into Steve’s hand, enjoying the way it’s slid into his hair. He can’t help but grin at his joke about Becca though. “You’re probably not wrong.” God help them if she somehow manages to get her hands on Brock. He’s fairly certain she’d actually try strangling him, budding law career be damned. 

He finally pulls his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, opening the message his mom had sent him and typing one back. 

_Can’t talk right now. Everything okay?_ He hesitates for a second before adding: _Xoxo._

Steve watches Bucky tap out the message, watches the little bubble pop up on his screen. It feels both final and not final at all. “Do you want to keep getting ready to go?” 

He doesn’t know if Bucky’s mother is going to respond or not, but maybe the distraction would be welcome. 

“Yeah. We need to get back,” Bucky says honestly, knowing Steve’s anxious about returning to New York. And honestly, so is he. He wants to see this thing through to its possibly bloody end, get some kind of closure for both of them. It feels like it’s well-earned at this point. And maybe then, the two of them will be able to take a little time and figure out some other things, like where they’re going to live. 

He tucks his phone back into his pocket, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I love you,” he whispers. “And you’re the best boyfriend a guy could ask for. For the record.” 

“Nah,” Steve says softly, one arm snaking around Bucky’s waist, just for a moment. “That’s you. Pretty sure you’re gonna keep that title for a long time.” 

The truth is, the compliment means everything. He wants, badly, to be exactly who Bucky wants, and exactly who he needs. Hearing that Bucky thinks so, hearing Bucky call him his _boyfriend_ , makes this century feel more like home than it ever has. 

Which is why it’s so hard to pull away, but he has to, or they really will never finish. “I love you, too,” he says first, because he means it, and Bucky deserves to hear it back, each and every time. “Everything about you.” 

But finally he does step away, fingers lingering but eventually sliding free again, so he can head back for the cabinet to keep emptying it. “I’ll be glad when this _is_ over. I was never a patient guy. Don’t know how I got a reputation for planning things when I usually don’t,” he laughs softly. 

Bucky smiles softly, ducking his head for a moment before looking up at him once more. He lets Steve pull away, returning to the dishwasher to continue his job there, as well. A soft chuckle escapes him at Steve’s admission. “Me either,” he teases, even if frankly Steve had been pretty patient when it came to teasing him what felt like hours before they’d made love the first time. 

“But that’s okay. Just means I know you better than historians did.” He grins at him, sending him a playful wink. 

It doesn’t take too long to finish up getting things in order and a little over an hour later, they’ve folded the last of the laundry and make their way out to the waiting quinjet. Alpine’s wrapped securely in Bucky’s arms as they board, securing their little bit of luggage and taking their seats. Liftoff is smooth -- far smoother than a regular airplane and he’s glad. He’s never liked the jolt of liftoff very much. He watches out the windshield as the mansion disappears from view, sending them off on their journey back home. 

The fact that the quinjet isn’t like a regular plane has a lot of benefits, and the vertical takeoff and landing is something Steve appreciates, too. He gets their coordinates set once they’re clear of the house, and glances over his shoulder at Bucky, grinning a little. “Tony told me not to get distracted and crash. Don’t know _what_ he could possibly be talking about.” 

It’s just a joke, but at the same time, it still feels safe and quiet, in this small space with Bucky, and knowing things are just going to basically blow up in their faces tomorrow -- even if that’s the intention -- has him a little on edge, wanting to keep things exactly like this for as long as he can. “I don’t know how it’s going to be when we get there,” he says quietly, “but this might be over fast, or it might not be.” He knows that won’t change Bucky’s resolve, but it still seems only fair to tell him. 

“I know.” That’s the one thing Bucky’s been pretty sure about -- the uncertainty of how this is all going to go. He hopes it’s over and done with quickly, but he’s also prepared for the long haul. He sits forward a little in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “Whether it’s over in a couple days or it takes years...I’m not going anywhere.” At least not willingly, but he knows that Steve understands his meaning. “I’ll be right here with you, no matter what.” 

He meets his eyes and offers him a small, reassuring smile. He doubts Steve is actually looking for that kind of reassurance but Bucky finds himself wanting to give it to him anyway. He’s not a person who walks away from people easily. 

The reassurance actually does a lot for Steve, even though he’s not the type of person to typically need it. But this thing _could_ stretch on for years, could go really bad, and he hopes it doesn’t, but he can’t ignore the possibility, either. Knowing Bucky will be there with him means everything, though, and the look on his face probably says that pretty plainly. 

Of course, thinking of the timeline and the lack thereof makes Steve think of the AOSD… and think that it shouldn’t be a problem, looking at the bite just visible above Bucky’s collar. There’s a matching one on his neck, and he’s sure it’s going to be the first thing anyone notices about either of them. 

But more than that, “Do you want to see Dr. Cho first thing in the morning? Or save that for after, too?” 

Bucky cocks his head to the side, considering. “I think we can just see how it plays out. If I see her in the morning, I’ll talk to her, but if other things take precedence, then it’ll wait.” He’s a little curious, a little worried, but she hadn’t sounded troubled by whatever it is she’d found in his blood, so he’s decided he’s not going to worry about it too much either. 

Steve blows out a slow breath, but nods; “All right.” It’s true, Helen hadn’t sound concerned, so it could be something simple -- although part of Steve knows that, given her expertise, it wouldn’t take something simple to stump her. He also knows she doesn’t downplay things, so if she’s _not_ concerned, then it’s not life-threatening and it can wait as long as Bucky wants. “We’ll see how things are,” he agrees. “She might be planning to have her hands full, for all we know.” If there’s a battle to come, or a lot of them, she’s going to be busy. 

So, Steve turns to the one thing they _will_ have to cop to, and that’s: “Everyone’s gonna know we’re mated now.” He doesn’t sound sorry when he says it, and the smile on his face definitely reflects that. “I don’t know how the others are going to take it, but… I think pretty well.” He hopes. He hasn’t been with this team long, but for all that they’ve had their differences, they _are_ a team. If not well on their way to being friends. Good friends. 

“I know it’s not your way, but don’t let them intimidate you,” Steve adds. Bucky had handled things pretty well before they’d left, but he’d also been in a bit of a daze, with a lot of other things to concentrate on. What Steve wants now, though, is for Bucky -- and everyone -- to realize, “You’re a part of the team now, too.” 

Bucky’s admittedly a little more concerned about that part of things than Steve, if only because Steve’s friends -- the _Avengers_ \-- don’t know him yet. Well, aside from Natasha, anyway. Sure, he’d met Stark and Barton, briefly, before they’d flown to California, but meeting people and knowing them are very different things. And he wants to make a good impression. He _wants_ them to like him. Wants them to accept him the way Becca accepted Steve so fast and easy. 

But he has a feeling it’s not going to be quite that simple. He hopes like hell they don’t think he’s just duped Steve into a relationship because he’s _Captain America_ or because he’s famous. He’s all too aware of how quick people are to jump to those sorts of conclusions when an average joe from the streets is suddenly mated to a celebrity. On the other hand, he knows himself well enough to know even if those conclusions are drawn, it won’t matter, ultimately, because Bucky knows that’s not the truth and _Steve_ knows it’s not the truth. 

And not being intimidated is probably going to be easier said than done, but he reminds himself that not all _that_ long ago, he hadn’t cared one way or the other about the Avengers and what they were doing. It only matters now because they’re Steve’s friends. And not that long ago, he was overseas, leading a unit of men on complex, high-security missions. If anyone knows about operating as a team, it’s Bucky. But hearing Steve call him part of _his_ team makes him feel warm and included in a way he hasn’t been for so long. 

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, nodding. He smiles a little, holding Steve’s gaze. 

Steve doesn’t know how well his team is going to accept another member just on his say so, but he also knows that he and Bucky are a package deal, and he is prepared to make that clear to anyone and everyone he has to. Hell, the marks on their necks, unconventional though his might be, will tell everyone even without words. And he will make sure Bucky is treated with the respect he deserves, because Steve has no doubt that, based on what he knows of Bucky’s service record, he can absolutely handle himself under pressure and can be a valuable asset to their team in a lot of ways. Especially if he knows how people like Brock and Pierce operate when not in the public eye. That kind of intel is going to be invaluable. 

But more than that… Bucky’s not the kind of guy who asks for a lot. He’s not. Steve hasn’t known him long, but he knows that. And if this is something Bucky wants, then Steve will give it to him, come hell or high water. He knows Bucky didn’t leave the armed forces because he wanted to. Maybe this can be the second chance he deserves, even if doesn’t quite look the same. 

But even given that -- “Is there anything you do or don’t want me to tell people? About us? About you?” Steve can’t take back the marks and wouldn’t, even if he could. But he can respect Bucky’s right to or desire for privacy. Funny enough, despite his celebrity, Steve would actually prefer to be a pretty private guy. He’s learned to accept that he can’t be, but it is what he’d want. So if Bucky doesn’t want to be in the spotlight, doesn’t even want his name released right now… Steve will respect that. “I don’t have to say who you are, or anything else about you. I won’t, if that’s what you want. This is your life, and your privacy, and I won’t just give it up for you.” 

Bucky leans back in his seat, considering that. He hasn’t really given it much thought. He’s mostly been focused on what this is going to look like for Steve rather than how it might involve him, in the public eye. “Part of me wants to say I don’t care and that it doesn’t matter,” he admits. “I don’t really like hiding or pretending.” He draws in a breath and exhales slowly. “And it probably _doesn’t_ matter if we take into consideration that even coming forward on live TV is going to make it obvious.” He smiles faintly, glancing at the mark on Steve’s neck. 

“The people we’re up against -- already know about me. Which means they know about my family, too.” Thanks, Brock. “I don’t think it matters whether my name is mentioned or not, Steve.” If HYDRA decides to use Becca or his parents against him, they already have the information for that at their fingertips. The general public isn’t going to care. He’s a no one, in the scheme of things. No one knows who he is. No one cares. 

“If you want me there with you, at the press conference… I’m happy to be right at your side. If you’re more comfortable not talking about us, that’s okay, too. You’re the one who’s doing the hard part here.” 

Steve frowns, thoughtful. “In this case… it’s not about the people we’re up against,” he says quietly. Like Bucky, he knows that those people already know who Bucky is. “It’s everyone else. The general public. I’m not Rihanna,” he adds, with a bit of a wry smile, “but people know who I am. They come up to me a lot, if I’m not trying to make it look like I’m someone else. I don’t know how that will affect you, if they know who you are, too.” 

“I’m not really worried about the general public if I’m bein’ honest,” Bucky tells Steve with a slight shrug, though his lips curve upwards when he says he’s not Rihanna. He knows there are some people out there who definitely take an interest in who celebrities are dating or who they marry but he doesn’t think it’s quite as prominent as the interest they take in the celebrities themselves. 

But all of that aside, “I’m torn.” Steve sighs. “I don’t think my private life -- or yours -- is anybody else’s business. But I also know that sometimes trying to keep private things private can backfire, especially now, when everyone has a recording device right in their pocket. I don’t want me going public tomorrow to be about me being mated. I want it to be about what’s happening on a bigger level, because that’s what matters. Not whose neck I’ve bitten.” But he knows it’s going to come up nonetheless, and he doesn’t know whether addressing it now or waiting until later is the better move. 

Bucky nods. “You’re right. It’s not really anyone else’s business. But… the fact is you’re in the public’s eye. I’m not saying I know what the right thing is in the situation -- to go public or just stay quiet. But… if you want to keep this quiet a while longer -- we can probably find you a turtleneck to wear.” A grin is tugging at his mouth, a hint of amusement in his eyes. 

Steve laughs, even as his hand comes up absently to touch the bite on his neck; he’s still a little surprised, when his fingers trace the slightly raised skin, when he looks in the mirror and sees it, looking a lot older than a day, but still visible, nonetheless. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t want to hide it -- to hide _you_. But I don’t want it to hurt what we’re trying to do here, either.” 

His lips twitch up again, and he admits, “Honestly… if I just wear my uniform, I think it’ll cover it. At least for the press conference.” As soon as he puts on civilian clothes, though -- well. Unless he’s wearing a turtleneck or a scarf, it will be pretty obvious. He figures they can cross that bridge when they come to it, but -- “I don’t want this to be the focus. And I don’t want it to derail from what I’m trying to say,” he decides, eyes watching Bucky’s. “But know that it means everything to me. _You_ mean everything to me. And I’m not hiding it out of shame.” 

He just needs to say that, out loud, just once, so Bucky knows. It’s important. He will never be ashamed or sorry for what they have, just like he’s never been ashamed or sorry for what he and Peggy had, either. But they had hidden things, too, out of necessity, and while Steve doesn’t want to do it all his life… he thinks maybe it might be prudent to do it for just a little while longer. 

“Steve… it’s fine,” Bucky says honestly. “I know you’re not trying to hide me. I know there’s a lot more at stake here than the two of us being public with our relationship.” He smiles. “I think it’s a good call.” It’s a _smart_ call. He shifts in his seat. “We’re dealing with something a lot bigger than the two of us.” And he’s not the least bit upset about the decision. 

He meets Steve’s gaze and holds it, nodding a little to confirm his understanding. “I’m with you. Always.” 

Steve smiles, feeling a little foolish, but also not entirely sorry for saying it, even if it wasn’t really necessary. It just feels a little like what happened with Peggy all over again, and Steve is sick of hiding, sick of letting other people dictate what he should and shouldn’t do. He’s never liked it. But he can accept it, for now. As long as Bucky can. 

“Same,” he echoes. “Always, Buck. I _like_ when it’s just the two of us, even if it can’t be like that all the time.” This trip was not really a vacation, but it had felt like a small moment of refuge, away from the rest of the world, just a little, and it had been amazing in ways he hadn’t expected. He never wants to lose that.

Bucky reaches his hand out to take Steve’s, squeezing it lightly. “I like when it’s just us, too. But we’re gonna have plenty of time for that.” His voice is confident. 

“You can come to the press conference if you want. Stick around backstage or in the audience,” Steve adds. 

It makes Bucky break out into another grin. “You can count on it. Where you go, I go.” He shrugs. And not just because of the AOSD, but because he wants to make sure he’s close by if things go south and Steve needs help. The people who attend the press conference will recognize the other Avengers who’ll be around and visible. But they won’t know his face. They won’t see him coming if it comes down to that. One thing being in the armed forces and part of a covert operation meant is that he knows how to lie low. How to blend in. People aren’t going to pay him any attention unless he means for them to. 

That makes Steve’s smile turn gentler, fonder. “Okay. You might as well see one up close and personal, anyway.” Not that it’s anything totally unexpected, but… well, his first press conference was more than a little overwhelming. But he hadn’t been born in this century, after all. Press conferences had been a little different in the previous one, even if they hadn’t been an entirely different animal.


	15. Chapter 15

It’s late in the evening when they arrive back at Stark Tower. Bucky scoops Alpine up in his arms while Steve grabs their suitcase and follows him off the jet, down the steps from the landing pad. His stomach is rumbling even though they ate before they left California just a couple hours before. “Okay, so if I’m as hungry as I am, you’ve gotta be starving, right?” 

Bucky nudges him with his elbow lightly, arching his eyebrows as they make their way toward the elevator.

“Guilty as charged,” Steve admits with an accompanying guilty smile -- he’s definitely hungry, even though he’d eaten more than Bucky before they’d left. And, even more than that, he’s pleased to see that Bucky’s appetite survived his heat; although, admittedly, he hasn’t asked if Bucky is still taking the suppressants that apparently didn’t work. He figures it’s none of his business, and maybe something Bucky might want to talk to Dr. Cho about, and not with Steve in the room. 

“Welcome back, Captain Rogers. Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS greets them as the elevator doors slide open. “Sir has been expecting you. Shall I have food sent up to your floor?” 

Bucky blinks a couple times, eyebrows rising even more at that. “Not sure I’m going to be able to get used to this,” he admits, glancing toward the ceiling. 

When JARVIS offers to have food sent up, Steve smiles gratefully, casting his eyes upward, too, even though he knows it’s not like JARVIS lives in the ceiling. It just feels natural, more like he’s addressing the AI as he says, “Actually, yeah. That would be great. Maybe…” he glances at Bucky. “What do you want? I could eat anything.”

“Pizza?” For some reason it’s the first thing that pops into Bucky’s mind, even if it’s not something he eats all that often. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t tend to get it because it’s expensive and also because he tries to stay in shape. He feels like he’s burned enough calories in the last few days, though, that he a few slices of pizza aren’t going to tank his physique too much. 

Pizza honestly sounds perfect to Steve -- it’s got enough calories that it can get him by for a long time, and it’s expensive, sure, but it’s more reasonable once you consider the number of calories you’re getting per pie. And Steve’s usual order is at least two, just for himself. JARVIS will know that, though, and adjust the number he orders accordingly. 

They step onto the elevator and the doors slide closed. “I can certainly order pizza,” JARVIS responds, sounding pleasant. Bucky wonders if that’s how the AI usually sounds. He glances sideways at Steve. “What would you like on your pizza, Sergeant Barnes?” 

“Uh, whatever Steve usually gets is fine. I can eat whatever,” he says with a slight shrug. 

“Uh,” Steve starts, right as JARVIS says, “Captain Rogers generally gets every topping available.” 

JARVIS doesn’t _really_ have a sense of humor, but Steve would swear he actually does. 

Bucky tries not to laugh at that, even though amusement tugs at his lips. “Maybe hold the anchovies. Not big into seafood on my pizza. I think… everything else is okay?” He gives Steve a questioning look, though, just in case “anything available” means something _super_ weird here. 

Steve grins a little, not minding if Bucky laughs. “Yeah, okay. Hold the anchovies, JARVIS.” And, to Bucky, “Most of the rest is just vegetables anyway. And no other seafood, I promise.” 

“I can handle all the vegetables you can throw at me,” Bucky says with a grin, letting Alpine wiggle out of his arms and climb up onto his shoulder.

“Very good,” JARVIS says. “I’ll have it sent up when it arrives.” 

“Thanks,” Steve says, because JARVIS deserves thanks for what he does, and follows Bucky into the elevator, maybe crowding into his space a little more than necessary, but he suspects Bucky won’t mind. 

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Bucky echoes. He wonders if talking to an invisible computer program ever gets any less weird, but he shakes the thought away, focusing on Steve as he steps closer. 

No, he definitely doesn’t mind. 

“Hopefully when Tony said he’d get the floor ready, he didn’t mean that he’d booby trap it, but maybe I should go first, just in case,” Steve warns. Tony’s not big on pranks, but he maybe doesn’t want to take any chances. 

“...is...that something he normally does?” Bucky asks warily, not sure what a Tony Stark produced prank might entail. The guy has access to basically anything and everything under the sun, after all. It’s hard telling what kind of sense of humor he has. 

“No, not usually,” Steve says, as reassuring as he can. “And honestly, his idea of a prank is probably leaving a vibrator on the table like it’ll scandalize me,” he decides, a moment later. 

His grin says that he absolutely won’t be scandalized if that happens -- no, after the past few days, it might actually come in handy, he figures, and wouldn’t that just backfire on Tony entirely. 

Bucky barely manages to choke back a laugh at the idea of Stark leaving them a vibrator. Which really -- not the worst idea. He tucks that away into his mind for later.  
Although, “Actually, he said he likes you,” Steve adds, “in the non-creepy way, I mean. But I genuinely think he does. He’d be stupid not to, anyway,” he adds, as the elevator _ding_ s and the doors slide open onto his floor. 

The elevator is basically the front door, and opens right into the foyer, which is open and leads right into a kitchen on the left and a living room on the right, the latter of which has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a hallway between them, clearly leading back deeper into the apartment. 

Steve does step out first, but the only thing they find are that the lights are on and there are two Starkpad tablet boxes sitting on the granite island in the kitchen. 

Bucky follows Steve out of the elevator and into the biggest apartment he’s ever seen in his life. He blinks a few times, watches as Alpine immediately jumps off his shoulder and onto the kitchen counter to start exploring, and rakes his fingers through his hair. 

“Gotta give him credit. He doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?” Bucky’s not sure what to think of Stark claiming he likes him -- they’ve only interacted a couple of times, and both of those times were limited. It’s not like they’ve had time to get to know one another. 

“This is nice.” There’s not a lot of anything that reflects Steve or his personality here that Bucky can see, but he doesn’t think Steve spends much time here anyway. 

Steve glances back, and immediately looks a little embarrassed at the look on Bucky’s face. “Yeah,” he agrees, because no, Tony doesn’t do anything by halves, and it _is_ a nice place, although, “I think it’s bigger than the first three places I lived in Brooklyn, combined,” he admits, walking into the kitchen that probably is the size of the entire first place. “But everyone on the team has one, so… it’s not as bad, I guess.” 

It’s easier to accept this as a place for him to use as a team member, especially when everyone gets equal treatment. But the truth is, he’s only stayed here for a few weeks, right after the Battle of New York, before leaving it for the SHIELD-sanctioned apartment closer to where he’d met Bucky. Tony had said then that the floor would always be his, and Steve had thanked him for it… and now he’s glad the offer is still good. 

It paints a wholly different picture in Bucky’s mind, to hear Steve say that everyone on the team had a floor of their own in his tower. It’s generous to say the least. He runs his fingers over the granite countertop, feeling the cool surface before following Steve down the hallway to check out the rest of the place. 

“There are two bedrooms, actually,” Steve says, turning on the light in the hallway so that Bucky can see. “But I figure… we’ll share? The master bathroom is bigger, anyway. It’s pretty much the same layout as the one in California. I guess Tony’s at least a little predictable.” 

Bucky almost cracks a joke about having his own room, but he doesn’t want to place even a shred of doubt in Steve’s mind like that. “Definitely sharing,” he agrees, stepping into the room, and sure enough it’s almost like deja vu. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were back in California, at the mansion. 

“Trippy, but kinda comforting at the same time.” His expression is perplexed but he moves to help unzip the suitcase so they can unpack. He stills Steve’s hand with his own, reaching out and threading their fingers together, needing the physical contact even if only momentarily. “Is it weird that I miss my bed? I know this one’s bigger and it kinda fits us better but…” 

Steve blows out a breath that definitely ends in a laugh, fingers tangling easily with Bucky’s as he ducks and says, “God, no. At least, if it’s weird, then I’m weird, too. I don’t think I’ve slept better anywhere than your bed, honestly.” He doesn’t know why, because maybe the small, dark space should’ve felt boxed-in, claustrophobic. But Steve has never been claustrophobic and the space had always felt warm and enclosed in a cozy, safe way. Like a refuge. 

Bucky feels that familiar warmth in his chest he’s begun to recognize as something he feels whenever he and Steve are both on the same page about something that most people would undoubtedly find strange. But also the thought that Steve had slept so well in his bed makes him want to recreate that sense of comfort and safety for him, somehow. He squeezes his hand. 

Steve laughs a little more, and says, “We could pile the couch cushions in the closet,” as a joke, because hell, the closet might actually be bigger than Bucky’s little bed loft. “But that might actually scandalize Stark.” 

“You think he’s gonna come strolling in unannounced?” Bucky asks, because he honestly doesn’t know him well enough to know if that’s something that’s likely to happen. 

“If he does, I’ll punch him through the wall,” Steve says sweetly, by way of saying that no, he doesn’t think Tony would do that -- he would at least tell JARVIS to warn them, but he does have a way of making things about himself sometimes that is just a little irritating. 

But Tony also does things like give people entire floors rent-free and leave them Starkpads on top of the phones he already gave them, so… he’s a complex guy. Steve definitely gets that. 

“I don’t care where we sleep,” he finally decides, using their laced fingers to pull Bucky a little closer. “As long as it’s together. Although -- JARVIS, can you screen the windows?” 

The floor-to-ceiling windows in the bedroom go gradually darker, as though layer after layer of film is building up on them, and slowly the lights of the city filter out. “They can go from clear to opaque and everything in between,” Steve says, getting that embarrassed tone back to his voice, knowing it’s absolutely over the top. “I don’t mind a little light when I sleep, but we could make it totally dark in here, I guess.”   
Bucky turns to watch as the windows grow darker, picking up on the hint of embarrassment in Steve’s tone. “A little light’s fine with me,” he assures him. Then he shifts, sliding his right arm around Steve’s waist and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’m voting the closet,” he tells Steve seriously. He’s sure they can make it comfortable -- because it’s definitely a little bigger than his bed had been. “We can start piling the cushions in there while we wait for the pizza. I suspect Alpine will probably be joining us tonight, too.” 

Steve’s smile at that is genuine -- and brilliant. “Yeah, okay,” he says. Honestly, it started out as maybe half a joke, but Steve had been half serious and now that Bucky seems on board… he really thinks it might be a nice alternative. Not exactly like Bucky’s, bed but even so… it feels like something more _his_ than the king bed on the other side of the room.

He lets his fingers slip out of Bucky’s so he can walk over to the closet to flip the light on in there; it’s empty except for two of his spare uniforms, which certainly don’t need to be hung, so he pulls them out to fold them up neatly in the dresser with the rest of their clothes. He picks up his extra boots and sets them next to the dresser as well. “I’ve got plenty of pillows and blankets… I think we could make it pretty nice in there.” 

It doesn’t take long to strip the couch of its cushions or the bed of its sheets, and Steve brings in the pillows and blankets from the spare bedroom as well, figuring they can decide how warm or cool they want it before they go to bed. He tends to run hot and prefers to sleep with the temperature low, but sometimes that backfires and he wakes up thinking he’s still caught in the ice. It hasn’t happened with Bucky around, and Steve doesn’t know if it’s Bucky or just sleeping with someone else close, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t think it will, even though he knows, given what happened with the pool, it’s still a possibility that might come back to bite him in the ass. 

But he also knows Bucky won’t judge him for it if it happens, even though he never wants Bucky to have to see him like that, either. 

Bucky crawls into the closet to start arranging everything inside, stacking up the couch cushions on the floor first, then covering them with sheets and a blanket before piling the pillows in and all around. Then he carefully arranges the blankets and large comforter Steve’s brought in so that it’ll keep them both warm as they sleep, if needed. And since neither one of them like being _cold_ , he suspects they’ll make use of the coverings. Once he’s done, he rises to his feet once more, grinning at Steve and feeling giddy, almost like a kid, getting ready for a camping trip or something. 

That’s not what this is, of course, but it’s also a lot more of a child-like thing they’re doing than an adult-like thing. He doesn’t mind in the least. It’s fun, light-hearted. But also if it makes Steve feel more secure and comfortable somehow, then it’s definitely worth it. 

“What do you think?” he asks, glancing back at the nest they’ve created. “I think we’re gonna sleep really well tonight.” He’s still grinning. 

Honestly, it’s nice to do something silly and child-like; Steve’s pretty sure no one would expect Captain America to do something like this, but what he maybe loves most about Bucky (well… who knows if it’s _most_ , there are a lot of things he loves about Bucky) is the fact that he’s never once expected Steve to act like or be Captain America. Not that Cap is really a different persona, but… well, he sort of is, at the same time. Steve knows that Cap is almost more of a caricature than a person, at this point, no matter how hard he strives to prove that he’s just a guy, the same as anyone else. 

And either way, his own grin mirrors Bucky’s; “I think you’re not wrong,” he says, surveying their work. It looks cozy and comfortable, maybe not quite as good as Bucky’s bed, but not far off, either. “Wherever we live next, I want a bed like this; I think you’ve ruined me for the mattress in the middle of the room setup.” 

Bucky’s entire expression softens at Steve’s easily uttered words about where _they’ll_ live next. He lets Steve tug him in close when he reaches out to tangle his fingers in Bucky’s, just as JARVIS says, “Excuse me, Captain, Sergeant, but your pizzas will be arriving by elevator in approximately 30 seconds.” 

Steve huffs out a quiet laugh, reeling Bucky in for a much more chaste kiss than he was maybe planning, before he says, “We should go eat.” 

Bucky goes soft and pliant in Steve’s arms, just for a moment. He kisses him once more before reluctantly pulling away as his stomach growls and he grins sheepishly. “My stomach agrees with that,” he confesses, keeping his fingers threaded through Steve’s as he leads him out of the bedroom and down the hall. 

“Thanks, JARVIS,” he says, because as weird as it is to talk to the AI, it’s weirder to ignore it. Him? 

(Steve definitely thinks of JARVIS as a him, although he’s probably never said that out loud to Tony. He’s not entirely sure how he’d take it.) 

“So yeah, on that subject… of where we’ll live after this all settles down.” Bucky scrapes his teeth over his lower lip. “If I decided to rebuild Book Barnes’, would you wanna have an apartment in the building like before? Or would your preference be to live somewhere separate?” An argument could definitely be made for either case, considering HYDRA had blown up the store _and_ his apartment since it was in the same location. But it’s entirely likely they would have blown up a separate apartment building to try and kill him, too. 

Steve glances back at Bucky as they walk down the hall, a little floored -- in a good way, the best way -- by the question, by the fact that Bucky wants his input. It’s a reasonable question, but, “I kinda liked things the way they were. I mean, it’s got to be nice, living that close to work in the morning,” he smiles, if a bit gently. Frankly, Steve might be _out_ of a regular job, given the situation, so Bucky’s schedule is definitely the one to consider. “Would that be something you want again? I understand if it isn’t.” After all, maybe that setup will have bad associations for Bucky, given what happened. Steve definitely believes one isn’t safer than the other, given the dedication of people like HYDRA. So that’s not his concern.

Bucky can tell Steve’s a little caught off guard by the question, but it’s something he’s been thinking about off and on over the last few days -- during those moments when he’d actually been capable of rational thoughts, anyway. “I like the way things were, too,” he admits. “I think that’s still my preference.” 

“I’d live in a cardboard box with you, Barnes, I’m happy where you are… although a box might get soggy when it rains.” Steve offers Bucky a lopsided smile, just as they get into the entryway and the elevator doors slide open to reveal a stack of five pizza boxes -- and their delicious aroma. Steve is _definitely_ hungry now. 

That same silly, dopey grin spreads across Bucky’s face at that. “Back at ya, Rogers. I’m sure we could make it work if we had to.” Frankly he feels like they could figure out just about anything as long as they’re together. 

“Oh god, that smells amazing,” he groans, moving to grab the pizza boxes off the floor. 

Steve’s definitely in love with the grin on Bucky’s face, and would do a whole hell of a lot to keep it there as long as possible. But even he is, admittedly, distracted by the promise of food, leaving Bucky to get the boxes while he pulls down spotless plates and glasses from the cabinets and goes rooting around for napkins. They _could_ eat straight from the boxes, but it’s not his first instinct. 

At least all the pizzas are the same, so they don’t have to worry about divvying them up any more than simply opening the first one and piling its contents onto plates. Steve starts them each off with three pieces, because he has no idea how much Bucky wants, but he’ll probably work through at least two or three of these boxes, himself, given enough time. And even if there are leftovers, Steve has discovered they make pretty good midnight snacks -- or breakfast. 

Bucky watches Steve grab the plates and glasses down even as he flips open the first box, letting the other put slices on their plates and sitting across from him at the table, stacks of pizzas between them. He’s so hungry he feels like he could polish off two all by himself. He knows he won’t -- it’s not even _possible_ , he’s pretty sure -- at least not without making himself sick from overeating. 

Sitting down with Bucky at the stylish, modern table is honestly the first time this kitchen has ever felt homey or comfortable. And Steve can’t keep the smile off his face, even as he starts in on his meal. “So if you do rebuild… can I do the store sign? I feel like I owe you that much.” And he wants to, he genuinely does. 

Bucky leans back in his chair, taking a bite of the pizza right as Steve makes that offer. He finds himself holding his breath. “I’d love that,” he admits, cheeks growing warm as he thinks back to the day they’d met. “I gotta tell ya -- I was trying to work up the nerve to ask if you did stuff like that on that first day at the store, but then you took off before I had a chance.” He grins a little, knowing why he’d done so now, even if at the time it had felt abrupt and disappointing, to say the least. 

Steve’s eyebrows rise, but he’s already cramming a piece of pizza into his mouth so he has to chew and swallow before he can say anything. “Oh -- I mean, I can explain,” he says, turning a little red. “These other customers walked in, and I thought they were going to recognize me, and it would pretty much turn you off of me forever.” 

He realizes it’s silly now, but it’s why he had split so fast that first day, and he hopes the sheepish smile that comes with the explanation will help. 

Bucky laughs quietly, taking a drink of his water before setting it down once more. “It’s okay. When I realized who you were and replayed it in my mind, I figured that out. That you were afraid of getting recognized. And they were playing on their phones so I assumed you were avoiding possible photo ops, too.” 

“Yeah, I was maybe a little afraid of that,” Steve admits, because young women with phones are worse than enemy snipers, in his opinion. But Bucky’s laughing about it, and he looks pleased that Steve wants to help, and it honestly just makes him want to help Bucky _more_ , because of it. And Steve’s never been one to want to live somewhere without contributing in some way. It’s just how he was raised, maybe, but it’s still true.

Bucky smiles at him, eyes bright with laughter and amusement. “It’s fine, Steve. And… yes. Absolutely. I’d love it if you made our sign.” 

“Good. I’d love to do it, too. Art might be my only marketable skill, pretty soon,” Steve offers with a laugh. 

And _then_ he catches on to the fact that Bucky said _our sign_ , and his face contorts through several different emotions, from surprise to disbelieve to utter love, and he has to hide it all in another bite of pizza. “I’m not terrible with bookkeeping, either,” he mumbles, after he’s chewed and swallowed again. “Or moving book _cases_ around.” 

Bucky’s expression softens. He doesn’t notice the expressions that flicker over Steve’s face because he _does_ hide it. “Steve. Pretty sure you’ve cornered the market on usefulness if we’re being honest here. But I’m not opposed to having help with the bookkeeping. And if you really want, I can even teach you inventory and ordering. But you have plenty of marketable skills.”

Steve shakes his head, though. “I guess I’m more useful than I used to be, when art and books were all I _could_ do,” he has to concede. “But I want to help. The bookstore’s important to you, and that makes it important to me. Not that you really have to twist my arm about it, anyway.” Steve grins, but he’s mostly just pleased, happy, that they seem to be on the same page -- ha -- on making the bookstore work _together_. Bucky had definitely had everything handled just fine, as far as Steve could tell, but that doesn’t make an extra hand unwelcome, he hopes. 

“It’s the same with you, you know,” he adds. “And the team. I can see a hundred ways you can help out, Buck. Trust me, you’re probably one of the most versatile people in this building, and that’s a major strength.” 

Bucky’s cheeks grow warm at the very sincere compliment, and he ducks his head. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.” 

And that’s when something occurs to him that hadn’t before, and he leans forward. “What if -- how would you feel about decorating the store with your work?” he asks, eyes widening a little at the possibilities. The store hadn’t had a lot in the way of decor -- it had just been mostly books. But he can picture it: the walls of the new store adorned with Steve’s art, and it makes _sense_ ; art and books go together like frigging peanut butter and jelly. 

Steve just… isn’t sure how to feel, for a moment. He isn’t sure there’s a name for this feeling, this weird sensation that the floor’s dropped out from under him, but in a _good_ way that he never wants to give up. “I --” he says, looking almost a little stunned, and feeling it, too. “I’d be honored, if you wanted me to do that,” he finally manages to get out. It sounds so stuffy, but it’s the truth -- “I’d love to. If you wanted me to, Buck, I’d love to.”

This time, it’s easy to tell the effect that his own words have on the blond across from him, and he nudges his foot beneath the table, curling his ankle around Steve’s. “I really want you to,” he says honestly, voice soft. 

“Okay,” Steve says, smiling almost a little shyly, but really, he’s so pleased he could burst. He puts that energy into grabbing the next box, because he’s managed to clear his plate again. “Then I will. As many pieces as you want.” He maybe hopes all this talk of the store means Bucky really is considering reopening it. 

Bucky rubs his foot lightly against Steve’s, enjoying the small point of contact and feeling a burst of warmth in his chest that almost makes him dizzy. Truth be told he hasn’t given an overabundance of thought to reopening the store, even if he’s known he _wants_ to. Financially he’s not sure it’ll pan out, still, but he’ll definitely at least look into it. Maybe he can take out a small business loan. It’s all things to check out in the future, once the business with HYDRA is over. 

And then, thinking back to how Steve had claimed he’s more useful now than he might have once been, “I think part of me’s always going to be pretty curious about younger Steve Rogers,” Bucky tells him honestly. He’s seen pictures here and there on the internet -- but they’re certainly few and far between. But he thinks he’d have fallen in love with that Steve, too. He feels it, deep down, like another lifetime on a reel in his mind. 

Steve snorts, softly, pulling a few more pieces onto his plate before offering the box over to Bucky. “He was a real punk,” he says, with a smile, “but I’ll tell you anything you want to know -- with the caveat that I might be biased in one way or another.” But he’s the only one Bucky can really ask, so… he’ll tell him whatever he wants to know. 

Bucky grabs a couple more slices of pizza, almost absently, taking a bite and chuckling when Steve says he used to be a punk. “Maybe,” he says, chewing and swallowing his food. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t also amazing. And maybe I’m a little biased because...I don’t think there’s ever anyone more critical of ourselves _than_ ourselves and -- he’s part of you. So.” He shrugs. 

“Maybe not,” Steve has to admit; he _can_ admit that, at least, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy to change. But he can tell that Bucky is probably the same way -- more critical of himself than anyone else might be. At least, anyone who truly cares about him. Brock Rumlow does _not_ count, and Steve will do whatever he can to remind Bucky of that, even if he doesn’t think Bucky realizes how much it affected him. 

But what really affects Steve is still the idea that Bucky wants _his_ art hanging in the bookstore. The touch of his ankle is grounding, it makes Steve feel a little more solid, a little more in the moment, a little more like this is real -- this is something he can have. When this is all over… he’ll have a home and a person to go back to. (Which is a little untrue, because Bucky’s coming with him, wherever this takes them in the first place.) 

“I might be a little curious about younger Bucky Barnes, too,” he admits. “I know a little. I’d like to know more.” But he definitely likes the Bucky Barnes sitting here in the kitchen with him, right now. 

“You can ask anything you wanna know,” Bucky assures him. “I’m sure Becca would be more than happy to offer an outside perspective on younger Bucky, too.” He smirks and takes another bite of food, surprised he’s still as hungry as he is. 

“I will take you up on that offer,” Steve says. “I do want to know. Hell, I don’t even know what it was like to grow up in this century.” He grins a little. “I need everything.” 

“Well. Once upon a time, in the month of March, in a neighborhood in Brooklyn, at a hospital, the first _Barnes_ child was born,” Bucky teases, popping a bite of stringy cheese into his mouth. “They named him after his great-grandfather, James, but he hated that name from a young age and made everyone call him Bucky instead.” There’s a shit-eating grin on his face now. 

Steve is not one to take a grin like that sitting down. He crams a little more pizza into his mouth, before propping his chin on one hand, looking rapt as he chews and swallows. “Okay, so your birthday’s in March, that’s important information,” he says, with a grin of his own. Meanwhile, his own foot twists a little, not trying to get Bucky to pull his away, but seeing if Steve can’t twine _his_ foot around Bucky’s ankle, instead. “Although I’m not sure Bucky is a whole lot better than James, pal.” 

Steve does not actually look like he has a problem with Bucky’s name. Because he doesn’t. It suits him, which might be weird to think about, but true. “Bucky and Becca sounds like it’d be a great radio drama, though, I have to admit.” 

“March 10th,” Bucky informs him matter-of-factly, narrowing his eyes playfully at the light teasing about his name. “We would have been _great_ at it. My mom used to call us Double Trouble.” His lips quirk up into a smile. “I always heard about sibling rivalry growing up, you know? And maybe there was a little of it, but mostly… she was my built-in best friend growing up. There’s only four years between us but it doesn’t really feel like it a lot of times. We got into so much trouble together,” Bucky laughs.

Though really, he’d gotten into most of the trouble. His parents had never liked punishing Becca. He’d been all right with it, though. It certainly hadn’t made any difference -- they’d continued causing trouble and he doesn’t regret it to this day. “We may have accidentally burned down a shed once. My parents still don’t know about that.” 

Steve’s eyebrows definitely rise significantly at that. “A shed? That _definitely_ would have made a good episode.” He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s laughing, basically drinking up every little detail Bucky’s giving him. He can just picture it, he swears, especially now that he’s met Becca, too. 

“God, if they’d found out, I’d probably still be grounded,” Bucky says with a laugh. “Good thing Becca was always pretty great about not ratting me out.” 

“Mostly I just got into fights in alleys and snuck into Ebbets Field pretending to be somebody’s kid brother,” Steve says, because it feels like he ought to offer a little something back. “My ma did convince me for a couple of years, though, that the fireworks and the parade on my birthday were actually for me. But the other kids I went to school with disillusioned me of that pretty quickly.” 

“So we were both law-breakers at a young age,” Bucky jokes, leaning back in his own chair and nudging Steve’s ankle with his own once more. Makes sense. Peas in a pod and all that. But -- “I wish I could have met her,” he admits. She sounds so different from his own mom. They’d been close when he was younger, but it had faded out of existence by the time he’d been a teenager. 

“Also, the other kids were assholes,” Bucky surmises, keeping his gaze on Steve’s face. 

“Well, I was an asshole right back, it evened out,” Steve hums, but the teasing aside, “I wish you could have met her, too.” 

He can’t say how his relationship with his ma might have changed things, or might have changed, itself, if she’d lived to see him grow up. But it doesn’t change the fact that the relationship he _had_ had with her was good, and he does wish she could see him now, see Bucky, meet him. “You two probably would’ve gotten along like a house on fire,” he says, grinning softly. 

Bucky smiles, trying to picture it. It’s not too difficult, even if he’s never thought Steve to be an asshole. But Steve had been smaller then, an omega, and he knows all too well how omegas in general have been treated throughout history. But he lets his thoughts shift instead to Steve’s mother, wondering if she looked like Steve, pale blond hair and bright blue eyes with just the barest hint of green. 

“Becca reminds me of her, a little,” Steve adds. Outgoing, opinionated, and not about to take shit from anyone -- but also loving, fiercely protective, and generous. 

“Yeah?” Bucky’s eyes are filled with warmth at that -- the thought that Sarah Rogers and his sister were alike in personality, even if just a little. 

Steve nods, steadily working his way through the second box of pizza undaunted. “Yeah,” he confirms, once his mouth isn’t full. Becca and Sarah probably would’ve gotten along just fine, too; and Steve is glad Bucky has someone in his life like that, because if _he_ and Bucky really are so much alike, Bucky probably needs it, too. 

And then, “I’m glad you and Becca get along.” Steve doesn’t say it out loud, but he also means, _I’m glad you have someone in your family who didn’t abandon you for no good reason, who loves you for you_. Because it’s maybe rude to dislike your mate’s parents on principle, but… Steve will just have to be rude, then. He doesn’t think Bucky will hold it against him -- but he does hope that maybe Bucky and his mom, at least, might have a chance at patching things up. But that’s Bucky’s business, and not his, and Steve will do his best to stay out of it. 

Steve doesn’t have to add those words for Bucky to understand the meaning behind them. He finishes his plate of pizza, finally feeling full, and scoots the plate to the side. “I’m glad we do, too.” Becca’s been the one constant in his life he knows he can always count on, and he hopes like hell she knows she can count on him, too. Even if his life is a bit chaotic right now. 

“Think Stark would let us borrow his jet on the regular to go visit?” he jokes. He really wants the two most important people in his life to get to know each other better, to know that he loves them both dearly, and that they can count on one another, too. He’d meant what he said to Steve before -- that Steve is his family now, too, and by extension, that means he and Becca are family. And as well as they'd already hit it off, he wants to make sure that pattern continues. Is nurtured. 

“If he doesn’t, we’ll just have to make a cross-country trip out of it,” Steve grins, although he has a feeling that Stark probably _would_ let them use a jet on a regular basis. “Do people even take trains anymore? Or I guess we could drive. See everything in between?” Not that he doesn’t want to stay home with Bucky, once they finally get one for themselves, but exploring the country from end to end with Bucky sounds pretty good, too. 

“That could be fun,” Bucky agrees easily. He doesn’t really plan on asking Stark to borrow his jet. He’s good with the idea of a road trip. There’s a lot of the country he hasn’t seen that he’d love to, and the idea of doing it with Steve is even better. “We can take our time, stop wherever we want. Hell, we could camp out and save money if we don’t wanna spend it on motel stays.” And he knows they both know enough about camping and roughing it that it wouldn’t bother either of them. 

“I’d never even been outside of the city until the war,” Steve says. And even then, he went where he was told. Where he was sent. It had pretty much ended with the Midwest. 

“So -- all the traveling you’ve done has been work-related, then.” It’s not a question, but more of a surmising. Bucky smiles softly. “We’ll definitely have to change that.” He hasn’t done a lot of traveling that hadn’t been work-related either, though he’d flown to California to help Becca move into her place and get settled. 

“Yeah,” Steve laughs softly. “I guess you could say that -- except for this week.” It had been the first time he’d even seen California, and he isn’t sure that laying low counts as not traveling for work, but it might as well. 

“I think a lot of people still take trains, so that’s a good option too,” Bucky decides, after thinking about it. “I think there are some specifically designed for sight-seeing cross-country.” 

“I’d maybe like to take a train,” Steve says, smiling at Bucky more than a little hopefully. “If you’d be willing. It might be nice -- I know it’s not exactly the same as it was, but it feels like I could show you the things I’m used to, that way.” God knows they’re in short supply. But it feels like a chance to show Bucky his home, even though it’s not, really. It feels close enough. 

“I’m on board with a train trip,” Bucky tells him, nodding. “I’ve never been on anything but the subway.” And he’s pretty sure things are different between the subway and a train traveling across the country. 

““Well, then we definitely need to get you on a real train,” Steve laughs. “Besides, California was nice. I’d like to see more of it when we’re not expecting to get jumped by a bunch of HYDRA thugs,” he adds, bumping Bucky’s foot again before he goes back to eating, considering opening that third box. “Did you get enough to eat?” 

Bucky rests his chin on his fist, smiling over at him across the table. “I’m good. That’s… more than I’ve eaten at one in time since I was about seventeen,” he adds with a laugh. 

“You good?” He rubs his foot over Steve’s, slouching in his chair a little and moving to rest his foot atop Steve’s knee instead. “If not, it’s fine. I just can’t eat anymore.” 

Steve grins right back, especially as he watches Bucky slip down in his chair a little, his foot reappearing on Steve’s knee a moment later. “I… could probably eat more, but I don’t have to,” he decides, piling the two empty boxes on one side of the table. “I’ll have more in a bit.” He’s found that if spaces out his meals a little, he ends up getting less ravenous. (Of course, for Steve, that probably means another pizza in an hour. It’s a little ridiculous, and he knows it.) “But I’m glad you got enough,” he adds, because Bucky had definitely eaten his fair share, and Steve’s sure he needed it. 

He’s quiet a moment, knowing it’s none of his business and that he’d decided not to ask, but it kind of ends up tumbling out: “Are you gonna keep taking the suppressants, if they’re not doing much?” 

Bucky’s a little caught off guard by the question, and for a moment he pauses, blinking a few times. “I haven’t given it a lot of thought,” he admits, gazing at him. “I -- uh. I haven’t taken them. Since before California.” He exhales. “I guess it’s something I do need to figure out pretty quickly, huh?” 

He taps his fingers on the tabletop. “What about you? Do you think -- you want to keep taking yours?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. 

Steve has to smile a little at that, just because, “I don’t know, either,” he admits. “I do know I’m not taking anything from SHIELD,” he adds, with a wry twist of his lips. “But I…” He watches Bucky across the table for a minute. “Rut’s different from heat. I don’t want to say _worse_ , but… I don’t want to put you through that if that’s not something that appeals when you’re _not_ in heat, you know? And --” His lips twitch again. “I guess it depends on what I do after this. If I can be deployed… it’s kinda inconvenient to try to fight off aliens when you don’t want to get out of bed with your mate.” He laughs a little, mostly because he hopes he never has to do that again, but also because he can’t promise he won’t. 

Bucky listens quietly, thinking about all of that. “Yeah, that would definitely complicate things,” he agrees. And by the same token, it would suck if he went into heat _while_ Steve was off fighting aliens. And that could happen any time, because it’s not like aliens care about things like humans being utterly miserable if they can’t be curled up in bed with their alpha for a few days every month. 

But he doesn’t want to _say_ that because Steve will just end up feeling guilty over something neither of them really has any control over. 

“Whatever you want to do, with yours -- that’s your choice. Not mine. But… I don’t know that I have a choice, as long as I can trust who I’m getting them from.” Steve isn’t sure he likes that idea as much as he could. But he really isn’t sure what choice he has, but to suppress the things his body might to that would keep him from doing what he _has_ to do, if it comes up. 

“I guess if I’m seriously going to consider rebuilding the store, there’s not going to be a lot of choice on my part either.” Bucky would have to take the suppressants to keep anyone else from finding out he’s an omega running a business. “Been ordering from a place in Canada. Just need to restock.” 

Steve nods, understanding even if he doesn’t have to like it. But he does understand. “I guess I’ll talk to Dr. Cho, when this is over.” Or maybe before, depending on how long this fight goes on. But given that they were _just_ in heat and rut, they should have a little time before having to worry about it again. “If we’re both on them, it shouldn’t be so bad, right?” 

Not like the past couple of days had been bad… but there were definitely times when things hadn’t been comfortable, and they hadn’t gotten much sleep, and Steve’s pretty sure they can only expect more of the same, if it happens again. Something in him doesn’t want to totally eliminate the possibility of it, but that’s probably just his actual libido, he figures. Besides, it’s not like suppressants mean no sex. It just means they can actually control when they want to do it, and that really is the better option. 

Bucky’s not excited about going back on the suppressants either. As intense as his heat had been, he hasn’t had a headache in days. Hasn’t felt nauseated or without an appetite. He’s not sure he’s ever realized how much the side effects have made him miserable until he wasn’t experiencing them anymore. But he’s dealt with them enough that he supposes it doesn’t matter that much, really. He’ll get used to it again. 

Steve finally slips away -- careful as he stands, so he doesn’t just shove Bucky’s foot away -- and puts the remaining three pizzas in the fridge, before coming back over and tugging his chair around to sit next to Bucky, like they had the other day. ‘“If you change your mind, that’s okay, too. We’ll figure it out.” He means that, just like he means to sit right here, next to Bucky, close, because he just wants to be close. 

Bucky leans into him, a little of his uneasiness subsiding at the closeness. But then Steve asks, “Should we both cover up the bites, for a while?” He draws in a breath and lets it out, nodding, even if his insides squirm at the thought of covering his own mark. It’s a stupid thing to be bothered by. 

“Yeah. Probably for the best,” Bucky agrees. 

There’s something in Steve that knows Bucky doesn’t like the idea. He can’t say why or how, but it’s just this twisting in his gut at those words, and Steve makes a noise that isn’t quite a laugh, admitting, “See, when I say I wish I could give you normal… that’s kinda what I mean.” 

He exhales slowly, one arm coming up around Bucky -- and then continuing up his shoulder, to brush carefully at the skin on his neck where the bite has healed over pretty well now. “I love this. I love that you let me give you this, and I wish we didn’t have to hide it. But even if we do… we’ll know it’s there. That’s what matters most.” 

Even if it is stupid, that they can’t just show everyone else. Steve wants to shout it from the rooftops, but that’s not something that’s smart, right now. Maybe ever. But he knew that when he agreed to be with Bucky, knew Bucky was an omega who didn’t want people to find out. He understands. And if helping him keep up that charade is the best thing that he can do for Bucky, then it’s what they do. End of story. 

Bucky exhales, leaning more into him. “I guess I got a little caught up in all of it. Didn’t really… think about why _I’d_ need to hide it.” He gives Steve a lopsided grin, shrugging. “It’ll be fine. _I’ll_ be fine. Just...like we talked about before. Neither one of us likes to hide stuff. Just necessary that we do anyway. And you’re right. The important part is that _we_ know the truth,” he adds, searching Steve’s eyes. 

Bucky shifts on the chair, body angling toward Steve. “One day, though. It won’t matter. We won’t have to hide it. I believe that,” he says softly. There are a lot of people out there working toward that very goal, and soon enough, he’ll get back to his part in it, too. But the store has made a good front for those kinds of operations, and one way or the other, he needs to make that happen again. 

Steve can’t help the smile that splits his face, because talk like that, believing that the world will get better, is exactly why he loves Bucky, and why they work so well together. “I do, too,” he says quietly, and he can’t help but lean in for a kiss, slow, if as chaste as he can make it. “Tony said people are starting to rally. Maybe HYDRA has done us a favor, shown them how stupid this system really is.” He doesn’t know if it’s true or not, but maybe it’s a start, even if it’s nothing else. “Until then, we know,” he echoes. 

“And even if people believe you’re a beta, that’s fine,” he adds. Because there’s nothing against alphas and betas being together, either, and thank God for that. “I want you to have the store, so I can live with that. Trust me.” Steve doesn’t care what people think of them, and normally he wouldn’t care if they got in trouble, but for now, at least, he is a little glad that even the lie is socially acceptable. It just makes things that much easier. 

“I do trust you,” Bucky says quietly, resting his forehead against Steve’s and closing his eyes. He trusts Steve in a way he’s never trusted someone else before: with his heart. “So we’ll do what we gotta do.” They’ll build a life together that’s built on honesty between them even if the rest of the world doesn’t know the truth. And it’ll be an incredible life, because he has zero doubt they’ll both work their asses off to make sure of that. 

“And for now… in this tower, no one will rat you out. I’ll make sure of it.” Steve trusts his teammates. And he also trusts in his ability to gain their silence, if he has to.

“I guess we’re gonna have to be up pretty early tomorrow, probably,” he says quietly a moment later, wishing they had more time, feeling like he’s going to wish that a lot in the coming days and weeks. 

“You’re right. We’re probably looking at an early morning.” Bucky presses another soft kiss against Steve’s mouth before reluctantly drawing back. “What do you say we turn in for the night?” 

Steve hums his agreement against Bucky’s lips, but lets him pull away a moment later, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go give that new bed a try.” He knows it won’t be exactly like Bucky’s bed, but it’s still plenty appealing to curl up together on the floor and spend at least one more quiet night before the shit hits the fan, however it’s going to happen. He knows that by early tomorrow morning, they’ll have a plan and things will be in motion. And it’s almost a relief to know that, for as much as he wishes it could all be over. But really, the only way out is going to be through. 

***

Tony Stark is up bright and early the next morning -- mostly because he hadn’t gone to bed. Insomnia’s long been a struggle and lately it’s been worse than usual, which means he’s in _extra_ fine form when he spots Steve and Bucky the moment they step off the elevator and onto the floor where their usual Avengers meetings take place. 

“Oh good, there are the lovebirds. I was worried I might actually have to drag the two of you out of bed,” he remarks as they approach. He focuses on Steve for the moment. “Cap. Pepper has everything set up for your press conference later. The others are waiting, in various stages of consciousness. Barton’s probably passed out again.” 

The manic look Tony’s got is one that that Steve’s come to learn means _I am underslept and overcaffeinated_. Still, his smile is genuine, if a little tight and guarded, as Tony essentially gets to work immediately, with only one major jab, which Steve considers a good sign. He thinks. 

He’s already in his uniform, which means he’s a little less comfortable than he’d like to be in the bright getup, but he hadn’t wanted to put the -- admittedly more comfortable, but less recognizable -- stealth version on, because it speaks too much to the dark, quiet, insidious way HYDRA has started to change things from within. The red, white, and blue is gaudier and definitely tighter, but at least it has a high neck and it will be more than recognizable enough for the point he wants to make. 

His fingers brush gently against Bucky’s lower back, not fully stepping away from him at the moment. “Thanks again,” he says, and then, “We’re gonna need a good plan of attack. Once I go out in front of the public, this is going to start moving, whether we want it to or not.” 

“Agreed,” Tony says immediately, motioning them to follow him as he steps onto the elevator they’d just gotten off of. “Which is why we need to be ready with all hands on deck.” He waits for them to get onto the elevator with him before he pushes the button for the basement -- one of his many labs. “That includes you, Buck-o. I’m assuming with your rather colorful Army background, you’re planning to be part of this and not hiding away like a damsel in distress.” 

Bucky blinks a couple of times. “I was definitely hoping to be involved, yes,” he agrees slowly, casting a wary glance at Steve. 

“Great. I’d hate for all my planning and hard work to be for naught. You didn’t strike me as the type to want be sidelined,” Tony responds. 

Steve’s almost a little surprised -- but also a little not -- at Tony coming right out and saying he’s been _planning_ for Bucky to be a part of this. Whatever he’s _got_ planned (another Iron Man suit? Steve isn’t sure what he thinks about that), the fact that he’s thought about it at all speaks volumes, just the same as the way Tony shuffled them off to a _mansion_ in Malibu like it was no big deal at all. 

So while Steve’s stance is a little wary as the elevator sinks, floor by floor, it’s not tense, and his fingers stay at Bucky’s back, just resting, reassuring (he hopes). “I’m not sure I should thank you before I’ve even seen anything,” he says to Tony, a bit wryly, just as the elevator dings again and the doors open onto one of Tony’s many basement labs, “but you can definitely color me curious.”

Tony waves his hand, brushing the sentiment off the way he usually does as he leads them out of the elevator and down the corridor. He opens the door and steps inside, pausing in the middle of the floor, where there’s a display case with a suit that’s navy blue in color, though the belt is red and there’s a silver star on the left arm of the sleeve that matches the one on Steve’s chest. “It’s a prototype, but it’ll have to do for now since we don’t know how much time we have before the shit hits the fan.” 

Bucky’s a little floored as he stares at the uniform, chest feeling tight because he’s so caught off guard by the fact that Stark had actually taken the time to make him a _uniform_. “I don’t know what to say,” he says softly. 

Bucky’s not the only one who feels a little caught off guard -- Steve’s honestly glad it’s _not_ another Iron Man suit, but what they do end up walking up to is… so much better, somehow. His eyes scan the suit, fingers curling almost unconsciously into the hem of Bucky’s shirt as he glances over to see how he’s taking it. Honestly, he looks pretty much how Steve feels. 

“I’m not the one who has to wear it,” he ends up saying, “but I think it looks pretty damn good.” His smile is a little hopeful, as he glances at Bucky again, but he certainly isn’t going to speak for him. Bucky’s going to be the one who has to wear it, and he has to be the one to like it. Although, of course, Steve finally steps away from Bucky to get a closer look, pitching his voice toward Stark to ask, “Kevlar?” 

“Of course,” Tony responds, sounding almost offended that he has to ask. 

Steve’s lips quirk up at Tony’s tone -- yeah, he’d figured. But it’s just nice to hear the confirmation, because that suit looks like it’s meant to be out in the world, not coordinating from behind the scenes. 

And that means something, too. 

“It’s awesome,” Bucky says softly, not taking his eyes off it. He’d expected there to be a discussion among the others, or at the very least, a _vote_ to see if they’d be willing to let him try and be part of the team, but apparently they’ve either already done that without him there to witness it, or Tony just made the decision on his own. He’s not sure which, but either way, he’s definitely touched. 

“Obviously. But there’s a little more to it than that.” Tony moves over to another case, a smaller one, opening it and pulling out what looks like some kind of metal sleeve, complete with a glove at the end. “Gimme your arm, Barnes,” he says, nodding toward Bucky’s left arm. 

Steve _really_ doesn’t expect what Tony pulls out next, even as he starts to slip the metal… sleeve? Armor? -- Steve isn’t sure what it is, entirely, but it slides up Bucky’s arm and over his shoulder, where Tony presses something small at the back, and the entire thing hums to life, whirring as the plates seem to almost contract until it fits perfectly around his arm, pale blue light peeking out from between each line. It’s a perfect match for his right arm, right down to the curve of his biceps and the tendons on his forearm, just… made out of interlocking metal plates.

Bucky holds very still as Stark puts the -- he’s not sure what it is really -- thing on his arm, tensing a little, involuntarily, as it seems to tighten around it like a second skin. “And here’s the kicker --” Tony’s saying, as he does something else at the back of Bucky’s shoulder that changes the tone of the soft whirring and keeps right on talking, “because a useless arm is, well, useless, am I right? So _this_ , this fixes the problem of all those nasty little damaged nerve endings and pathways and through the magic of electricity and utter genius -- that part’s all me -- it amplifies your body’s electrical signals and fools your muscles and brain into thinking the arm and hand are still perfectly good.” 

By now, Bucky’s barely paying attention to what Stark’s even saying. Because it’s like a switch is flipped and he’s moving his left arm like there’s not a damned thing wrong with it. 

His eyes go wide, all the air leaving his lungs as he flexes his fingers, staring at them for a moment as they move without any real effort and without any pain. His gaze shifts to look at Tony, amazement reflected on his face. “Thank you,” he says, voice just barely audible. He trails the fingers from his right hand over the metal, surprised that he can actually feel the touch there. “This is incredible.” 

“Of course it’s incredible,” Tony says, but underneath the nonchalance, there is definitely some tiny, tiny bit of satisfaction. “And it’s only a prototype, something I threw together in a couple of days. If you actually stick around this time, I’ve got a list of things we can add. Temperature sensitivity, fine motor skill improvement, maybe a spring-loaded knife -- or gun, maybe a gun, I don’t know which you prefer, although now that I think about it, it’s probably the gun.” 

Steve, meanwhile, is watching Bucky; he can feel the way his own mouth has dropped open, the same as he can feel the way the amazement is curling through him, blooming slow and warm. “Buck,” he breathes, and then his gaze swings over to Tony. “Tony, this is --” 

He’s kind of lost for words -- which _definitely_ seems to satisfy Stark more than anything, if the look on his face is anything to go by. 

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes for a moment, still stunned by the fact that Tony Stark had done all this for someone he barely knows. But maybe it isn’t as much about him as it is about Steve. He’s not sure that it matters, ultimately, but now he’s definitely going to insist on the two of them cooking dinner for the other man. And soon, preferably. “I don’t really know what to say,” he admits, turning his attention back to Tony once more. “Thank you. I never really expected -- well. Any of this, actually.” And definitely not this kind of acceptance, this quickly, from people on Steve’s team. 

It means more to him than Tony could possibly even know. 

“But seriously, it’s the gun right? You were a sniper -- so definitely a gun. Which means we need to work on finding you one pretty quickly. Shouldn’t be an issue there either,” Tony says, rolling right along as he makes his way toward the door. “If you want to try on the suit and see if it works, there’s a bathroom through there.” 

He points to a door at the other side of the lab. “Give it a whirl, if it works, come back up to the conference room floor and we’ll do a round of introductions and -- yeah, you’re also going to need a superhero name. Start thinking about that, too. If it doesn’t fit, just change back into your civvies and we’ll make adjustments after the meeting.” 

Steve manages to make a lunge for Tony and catch the man’s sleeve; maybe not his most graceful move, but it does get him to stop and turn around long enough for Steve to say, “Tony, thank you --” before Tony is snorting and batting his hand away with a, “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy, Cap, or I’m going to change my mind,” before he retreats to the elevator. 

Steve watches the doors close and lets out a breath, turning around to say, “That man really doesn’t know how to handle being thanked.” 

Bucky watches Tony brush off the thanks and disappear from the lab, leaving him and Steve alone inside it. But then Steve pauses, just looking at Bucky, and at the suit in the case just behind him. 

And he has to take another breath, let this one out more slowly, measured. “I guess… you’re part of the team, then. That’s that,” Steve says, sounding a little blindsided, but in a good way, still staring at the metal covering Bucky’s arm. “Does it hurt?” 

He doesn’t think so, but it’s still the first thing he asks. 

“No,” Bucky says softly. “It doesn’t hurt at all.” He flexes his fingers, watching them move so easily, vastly different from how it’s been for so many months now. He shakes his head a little, drawing in a shaky breath. “Kinda feels like I’m dreamin’,” he admits. He’s silent for a moment, just staring. “The uh -- the docs back at Walter Reed. They basically said I’d never get any real level of functionality back in the arm. Or the hand. Too much nerve damage.” 

His voice is hushed and when he looks up at Steve, his eyes are a little brighter than usual. He sniffs. “Never wanted to believe ‘em, even if I kinda knew they were probably right.” 

“Buck,” Steve breathes again, and this time, he ends up stepping closer before he’s even realized it. He knows what that’s like, to be told something by a doctor and not want to believe them, but knowing they probably were right, underneath it all. Knowing that all the stubbornness in the world couldn’t fix a body that was broken. “If I have learned anything, it’s pretty much that when Tony sees something impossible, he takes it as a personal affront if he can’t prove that it’s actually possible, instead.” 

But the thing is, even given that… he didn’t have to do this for Bucky. And he did, without even being asked. _That_ gets Steve right in the gut, the same way Bucky’s smile does, the same way waking up this morning tangled in blankets on the floor of his closet had felt like being home in a way that the tower never had before. “It’s pretty amazing. And I have seen a lot of amazing. It’s the future, after all.” 

He reaches out, stopping short of Bucky’s left hand, but holding his own hand palm up, so Bucky can slide their hands together if he wants, let Steve feel it for himself. 

There’s no hesitation before Bucky slides his left hand into Steve’s, breath hitching in his throat because he can actually _feel_ their palms pressed together like his hand is normal. “What uh -- what’s it feel like? For you?” he asks, wondering if it feels like metal to Steve, or if it feels like something else entirely. He steps a little closer, staring at their joined hands with wonder. 

“It’s…” Steve trails off, because he’s trying to figure out how it feels, himself. The metal is smooth, just a little cool to the touch, and hard, yes, but… “It doesn’t feel like… I don’t know, like a suit of armor,” he says, laughing a little at how ridiculous that comparison is. “I just mean -- it’s alive. It’s _you_. I don’t know, it feels just like holding your hand, only it’s different, but…” It’s not bad. And it’s not jarring at all, to look at the smooth metal in his hand and think of it as _Bucky_. It looks, for all that it’s not, almost weirdly natural. 

Bucky marvels at the fact that he can feel Steve’s skin so well despite the fact the covering -- he’s really not sure what else to call it -- is made of metal. Or what he assumes is metal. He brushes his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand, swallowing heavily. He listens to Steve try and articulate what it feels like to him, and he thinks he sort of gets it. It’s strange and new, and yet… feels perfectly normal at the same time. 

“He doesn’t even know me,” Bucky whispers. “Why would he do this?” Aside from just being _that_ damned smart. Bucky’s already wondering more: can he leave it on all the time? If he gets it wet, will it hurt it? Tony had said it’s just a prototype and had already started making suggestions for improvement. He’s a little overwhelmed by the possibilities that are suddenly at his doorstep that hadn’t been in such a long time now. 

Steve’s already shaking his head a little, as Bucky ends up voicing, well, the questions that yeah, Steve has, too. “I don’t know,” he says, but -- “I mean. Because he’s Tony. I don’t really know him all that well, but… I knew his dad. And I think, for him, doing things like this, this is how he shows that he cares. That he wants to be friends, as silly as that sounds. That he wants someone in his life, and he wants them to want him in their life, too.” 

It’s all speculation, but Steve has a hunch or two. He and Tony didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but the thing is, he can see behind the mask, if he puts in the effort. At least, he thinks he can. And he thinks the man underneath is solid, if also strangely vulnerable at the same time. 

“But him doing this -- I mean, I can mandate that I want you on the team. I _will_ ,” Steve says, because he said he would, and he means to, still. “But Tony doing this, getting behind you… it might not even be a discussion at all. Or maybe it’s one they’ve already had, and this is their answer.” 

Bucky draws in a slow breath, trying to steady his emotions that still make him feel like he’s caught up in a whirlwind. Wordlessly he pulls his hand away from Steve, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he’s wanted since the day they met and burying his face against his shoulder. “Steve,” he whispers. “I didn’t realize that -- I mean I know we talked about you and Becca being family now, too, but -- Nat? Tony? Clint? I’m pretty sure they all think of you as family, too. Pal, there’s no way this is just about me.” He pulls back enough to look at him. “They only met me for a few minutes. I think they’re doing this for _you._ ” 

That… that is all a little much for Steve, in this weird way he just doesn’t know how to process for a moment, so he maybe takes advantage of Bucky’s arms around him -- both arms, solid and tight, and it feels so _good_ to lean into Bucky and bury his own face against Bucky’s shoulder in turn, even if Bucky’s just pulled back to talk. He _doesn’t_ know what to say, doesn’t know what to do with the idea of those people, people he’d only been starting to hopefully consider his friends, actually wanting to be more. Actually wanting to bring Bucky into the fold, if not for Bucky, then for Steve. 

But… they are up there, waiting for him, so they can back him up when he goes toe to toe with… well, basically, the government. Or, at least, the parts of the government that are sick, infected, plagued by an enemy Steve had died trying to take down with him. It’s a _lot_ all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know why it feels like so much all at once, when he was fine a minute ago, and he’ll be fine in another minute, but right now -- 

“I guess maybe I’ve been reading the room wrong,” he says, because he needs to say something, eventually. “I’m not sure -- I guess I never thought that was how they’d feel. We didn’t actually get along all that great at the start.” 

But Steve knows that sometimes, like with STRIKE, it means there are deeper divides. And sometimes… it means there is nothing that can actually divide them. 

Bucky tightens his arms around Steve again, letting him bury his face in Bucky’s shoulder, pressing a kiss against his temple. He thinks he might have overwhelmed him with his words, made him shift his perspective on things a little to the left, and he thinks it’s probably a good thing. He’s _glad_ Steve has all these amazing people who care about him so much that they’re willing to accept a virtual stranger into the fold just because Steve wants them to. 

“Sounds about right to me,” Bucky says, mostly to lighten the mood. Because God knows families don’t always get along. Sometimes they never do. But if you’re really lucky, they’ve got your back when you need them to, and vice versa. It’s what he has with Becca. It’s something he treasures. 

He reluctantly pulls away to look at him, reaching up with both hands to cup his face, searching his eyes. “You good?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and this time, when Bucky pulls back, he lets him, and he does the same. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m not the one who just got the full use of his arm back,” he adds, laughing softly, fingers reaching up to trace the back of Bucky’s hand, marveling at how much what he said before was true -- how natural it already seems, how easy it is to touch. “Sorry, I -- I don’t know what came over me.” 

He takes a breath, then leans in for a short, soft kiss. “Do you wanna try on the suit?” he asks, because he’s working on pulling himself back together, but a distraction might be welcome. And Bucky should try it on, too. So it’s actually a reasonable thing to ask. 

Bucky studies him for a moment, then smiles softly, leaning in and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth before he pulls back. He glances over his shoulder at the suit that Tony had designed for him, eyes lingering on the silver star on the sleeve, and then turning his gaze to look at the same star on Steve’s chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

Steve nods; he can’t help the way his eyes linger on that star, either, and he knows Tony planned it that way. It’s just another indication that the guy is a lot more thoughtful than he wants people to know… but the thing is, part of Steve thinks Tony does want them to know, and notice, even if he doesn’t like being thanked for it. 

He figures it won’t really be a big deal to pay a lot of attention to Bucky’s arm, once they get upstairs. 

Bucky draws in a breath, moving over to carefully take it out of the display case. It’s surprisingly lightweight for something that has kevlar. “Be right back,” he says, heading toward the bathroom that Tony had directed him to use. 

Steve feels antsy, staring at the closed door but not wanting to necessarily go poking around in Tony’s workshop, either. He’s pretty sure that would _un_ endear him to the guy, and that’s not exactly what he’s going for. He ends up wearing a small track in the floor, not exactly pacing, but not exactly _not_ , either, wondering just how badly he’s going to be done for when Bucky walks back out again. 

Possibly very badly. He has a feeling it’s going to suit Bucky to a T. 

For the last eleven months, even simple tasks have been a pain in the ass for Bucky, because at least half the time his left hand didn’t want to cooperate at all. The other times he might have been able to grasp things briefly, but ended up dropping them in a moment of ill-timed self-confidence. But Tony’s design makes changing out of his shirt and jeans a breeze. It’s like he’d never lost feeling in his arm at all. 

He takes his time putting on the suit, surprised again, but this time by how comfortable it is. It’s snug, but not in a way that makes him uneasy. And when he looks at himself in the mirror it almost feels like he’s in his Army dress uniform. He stares at the image in front of him, realizing he’s actually put on a little bit of weight -- and muscle -- that he’d lost during his long hospital stay. His cheeks have taken on a rosy hue that he swears has been gone for ages. 

He looks _healthy._

He _feels_ healthy. He feels _normal._ His gaze is drawn to that star once more, almost like it’s a nonchalant reminder that he’s part of something more than himself. He’s part of Steve, too. 

It takes him a few moments before he steps out of the bathroom and into the lab once more, gaze immediately resting on Steve. He draws in a breath. “Well. What do you think?” 

Steve hadn’t seen Bucky at his worst, but he’s certainly seen what happens when Bucky seems happy, when he eats a little more, when he gets some rest and has someone to help him out with chores -- not to do it for him, just to pitch in, like partners. That’s what they are. Partners. 

Mostly, though, Steve isn’t thinking about any of that as Bucky steps out of the bathroom. He’s not… really thinking a whole lot at all, except that Bucky looks _good_ , and not just hot (although yeah, he looks pretty hot, too). He looks confident, he looks capable -- like _he_ feels he’s capable -- and he looks like he was made to wear a uniform, and Steve knows that’s true. He looks like part of the team -- like part of what is apparently Steve’s family, now -- and that overwhelming feeling comes back, but much more briefly than before. It slides away pretty easily, as Steve’s grin threatens to split his face. 

“Buck,” he says quietly, feeling like he’s smiling so hard it’s difficult to talk. “You look great.” He reaches out, hoping Bucky will take the hint and come over so Steve can get a feel for the suit, how it’s made and all the details he hasn’t gotten to see just yet. “How do you feel?” 

The smile that Steve gives him makes Bucky think of that moment when it’s been raining for days at a time but then the sun makes a sudden, unexpected appearance from beneath the clouds, reminding you that it won’t always be rainy. He’s helpless against it, helpless against his own response -- a smile that’s as bright and sincere as it gets -- and helpless against Steve in general. And not for the first time, he doesn’t care. He crosses the floor to where Steve’s standing. 

“I feel… kind of incredible, actually,” he admits, glancing down at himself and then at Steve. Their suits are pretty different, but the color scheme is remarkably similar and he knows that’s not a coincidence. He wonders what kind of vibes they’d been throwing out when he’d met Tony and Clint a few days ago. Obviously they’d been pretty intense, for Tony to have made the decisions he’d made in his uniform’s design. 

“You look pretty incredible,” Steve echoes, but he means it, and the tone of his voice, the look on his face, definitely back it up. “And I don’t just mean -- I mean, I am biased, but… it suits you. It really suits you. I never saw you in a uniform, but I think I might’ve been a goner if I had.” 

He runs his fingers over the shoulder of the suit, but it seems like good, solid workmanship, the best materials, and he’s not surprised in the least. He’d expect nothing less from Tony Stark. Not after he’d gone to the lengths he’d clearly gone to, to make this. 

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly, holding his breath as Steve reaches out, touching the material of the uniform. “It's surprisingly light for kevlar. I like it.” 

Steve nods; “They make stuff a lot lighter than they used to, and I don’t think this is the kind of thing they give the Army grunts, even if it should be.” All he can do is hope that eventually, something like this, like everything Tony designs, will get to the people who need it -- and not to the people who don’t. 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck with his left hand -- because he can actually make his arm move like that to do so and it’s incredible, too. “I don’t know about the whole superhero name though. I mean, I don’t even actually have any superpowers.” He chuckles. 

Steve does have to laugh, because, “Well, neither do Clint and Natasha.” 

Bucky smiles at Steve, stepping a little closer out of instinct. “Are you sure Natasha doesn’t have some kind of superpowers? I feel like she’s got them and maybe she’s just really secretive about it,” he jokes. 

Steve can’t help laughing at that. “I guess she might… I wouldn’t be surprised, but I also don’t want to fail to give credit where credit is due,” he says, lips twitching up into a wry half-smile. “Some people are pretty amazing, all on their own.” 

Including the person standing in front of him, who doesn’t need a fancy metal sleeve to get by, even if Steve’s beyond thrilled at how that one simple thing has changed a lot about Bucky in just the last few minutes. Maybe that’s something Stark can mass-produce, too. It could change a lot, for a lot of people. Steve’s pretty sure he knows that. 

Bucky feels his cheeks grow warm when Steve says there are some pretty amazing people without superpowers, because combined with the way he’s looking at him, there’s no doubt that Steve’s including him in that category. 

“Honestly, though, the whole name thing is overrated,” Steve goes on. “You can just be yourself, I don’t really care.” Fury and Hill and a lot of the other agents don’t have callsigns on the regular, anyway. “Captain America was just a stupid name that stuck,” Steve adds. “I didn’t pick it.” 

Although, “I guess… we should maybe have something in mind, though, because if Tony decides for you, I don’t think anyone’s going to like that.” 

Bucky hums quietly, though, not sure he wants to know what kind of nickname Tony might give him, if “Buck-o” is anything to go by. Steve has a point. “Maybe something with ‘soldier’ in it. Since it’s what I am, at the end of the day,” he suggests. 

“I guess so,” Steve says, tilting his head, considering, before he laughs, teasing: “Alpine Soldier.” 

For a moment, Bucky just holds his breath, gazing at Steve, then laughs quietly at the suggestion of _Alpine Soldier._ “I don’t want to give her a bigger ego than she already has,” he jokes. 

Steve can’t help but grin, knowing the suggestion wasn’t really a serious one. “That’s probably wise; she already thinks she owns the place, wherever we are,” he points out.

Bucky laughs, because he’s not wrong. Anywhere they went, Alpine tends to make herself queen of the castle. He doesn’t mind. 

Then he considers a moment more, reaching out and laying a hand over Steve’s chest. “Maybe… winter. Winter Soldier.” 

The moment he says it, he feels like it’s right, like there’s a truth to it. He’s a soldier who’s been through one very long winter in his life and come out on the other side of it. But there’s also a tiny hint of that name that points to Steve, too. Steve, who’d been frozen for the majority of a century and also come out on the other side. Plus, it just sounds mysterious. “What do you think?” 

Steve falls silent, considering -- but not for very long. He thinks he can see a reason or two Bucky might have suggested the name. He thinks it should reflect on Bucky far more than it reflects on him, but he thinks that’s definitely true of the choice. “That’s not a bad one,” he says softly, fingers reaching up to touch Bucky’s hand, laid out on his chest. “I like it. I think it suits you.” 

The same way the uniform does. The same way the look on his face right now does, serious and confident but thoughtful and loving, too. There is pretty much nothing about this man that Steve doesn’t love. It’s why his fingers curl gently over Bucky’s, not sliding their hands together but just trying to get a little closer, touch a little more, a little more lovingly. “I could see myself calling you that. Soldier.” 

Steve’s grin is soft and lopsided, thinking about every time Bucky’s called him just that, and how much he likes it. How much he hopes Bucky likes it when Steve calls him that, too. And now, he might get to call him that a lot more. In public. It doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all. 

Bucky links his pinky finger over Steve’s even when his fingers curl around his own. “Yeah. I like it, too. I think it works.” His lips quirk upwards he nods, feeling like it’s decided then. Finalized. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. It has a ring to it that’s for certain. 

“Tony might even go along with it,” Steve laughs softly. “I mean, we can hope.” 

Bucky leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, light and chaste, because they’re in Stark’s lab, and he definitely wants to stay on the man’s good side. But also -- 

“We should probably head up so they can get started. So… _we_ can get started.” He draws in a breath and pulls back to look at him. “You ready?” 

Steve sighs, but he doesn’t seem necessarily put out. He knows as well as Bucky that they do have to get started, or this won’t end. “Yeah,” he says, nodding and giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze -- and now he does twist his own hand so he can link their fingers as he starts toward the elevator. “I think I am, now.” 

The truth is, he’s been ready for HYDRA to end for years. But now, in particular, things seem almost more dire than they did before. At least before, the whole world knew there was an enemy to fight. This time… well. This time, Steve’s going to make sure it’s the same. He won’t let them hide any longer. The worst thing you can do for something that thrives in the shadows is call it out into the light. And that’s exactly what he plans to do. 

“If you talk to Barton, he can probably get you set up with any equipment you need,” he says, as the elevator doors slide open and they step inside to head back up again. 

“Oh? Is he in charge of that kind of thing?” Bucky asks curiously, still not really sure how all of it works, what each team member is an expert in or in charge of. He’s a fast learner, though, and he has pretty good memory recall -- which is a plus since he hadn’t brought anything to take notes on. Or with. 

Steve smiles a little. “Frankly, I’m not sure who’s in charge of anything anymore, given that half the people I worked with are probably on the wrong side.” But that’s not true in this tower, and, “Clint and Natasha are the two that carry the weapons, though.” And he doesn’t say it, but they both know it: Natasha isn’t here, and that’s still twisting Steve’s guts up with worry, even though he knows she can take care of herself. “I’m pretty sure Stark’s the one who keeps everything stocked, but he doesn’t use it. So you and Clint might as well work something out, and if we don’t have what you need, I’m pretty sure he can tell you how to get it. Since you don’t have a firearm ready in your arm, yet,” he adds, with a little bit of a laugh. He’s not sure how that would work, but he’s seen crazier from Tony, to be sure. 

Bucky’s eyebrows rise at that comment and he glances at Steve sideways. He knows he’s joking, but he has a feeling there’s a hint of uncertainty there, too, like that might be something Stark’s already considering an upgrade on. “Think I’ll get to veto that one if it comes up?” 

“If there’s something you do or don’t want, tell him,” Steve says, softly. “It’s your arm. I’m pretty sure he knows that.” Maybe Tony made it, and he can make a hundred others, but this one is specifically Bucky’s, and Steve’s pretty sure that means he gets all the say. He smiles at Bucky, and this time it’s soft, understanding, and not teasing at all. “I get that not everything has to have a hundred bells and whistles. It’s his nature, but he isn’t cruel or stupid. He’ll listen. He made this for you, and I think he knows why.” 

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand as the elevator ascends toward the floor of the meeting. He smiles back softly, nodding. “It’d be something if I could just...keep it on most of the time.” Maybe not when he sleeps, but the rest of the time, just to have functionality of his left arm and hand again. “Be nice not to drop coffee cups on the regular,” he jokes. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, knowing how much it would mean to Bucky, to have an arm he didn’t have to worry was going to fail on him. He doesn’t know if it’s something he can just keep on, but he does know that it’s a question worth asking, of Stark or Cho or whoever they need to ask it of. Because he knows that if he had been able to strap something on to take away his weakness, or some of his pain, or even just the curve of his spine, he would’ve jumped at the chance. Hell, he _had_ jumped at the serum, so he can’t fault Bucky for wanting something similar. He can’t want him to have anything but the best tools to live the life he wants. 

But that’s for the future -- they’ll figure it out then. 

The elevator comes to a stop on the floor where they’d initially run into Tony, and the doors slide open. Bucky glances down at their joined hands, then lifts his gaze to look at Steve’s face, questions in his eyes -- not sure if Steve wants to walk into the meeting like this or if he wants to approach it more professionally. Of course, he knows that Tony and Clint know about them already, but he’s not sure who else might be inside waiting, either. He’ll let the decision be Steve’s. 

Steve decides that if he’s going to trust the people in this building, he’s going to trust the people in this building. So he doesn’t drop Bucky’s hand, only squeezes it gently before stepping out of the elevator, making sure to match his steps to Bucky’s so they walk in together, not one after the other, not Steve pulling Bucky in like a kid brother. Like equals. 

Bucky’s pleased when Steve doesn’t let go of his hand, and it’s a struggle to keep a big, dopey grin off his face. They walk into the room side by side, a united front, and he feels a burst of affection and warmth for the man beside him spread through his chest. 

Inside the conference room just across the hall are Stark, Potts, Barton, Banner, Hill, and Fury. Steve’s sure this isn’t everyone, but it’s probably everyone who needs to know about the first step they’re going to take -- announcing to the press that Steve is free, and that HYDRA is alive and well. 

“Looks like it’s a perfect fit,” Tony comments, eyeing him critically, then smirking. 

“It is. Thank you,” Bucky says sincerely. His gaze travels around the room, and he nods at Clint, but the others he doesn’t know and the man on the end is simply staring at them wordlessly, eyepatch over his eye. And because he’s never been shy, he takes a deep breath. “I’m Bucky Barnes.” 

He recognizes the pretty blond beside Tony, Pepper Potts. She’s smiling softly, looking entirely pleased at the sight of his and Steve’s joined hands. “Pepper Potts. Nice to meet you, Bucky. Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.” 

Steve finally slips his fingers out of Bucky’s so they can take a seat -- next to each other in the two empty chairs still at the table. He glances around knows that Fury is probably going to want to have words with him, but at least Hill looks like her usual cool, calm, collected self. He leans forward a little, making sure he takes stock of everyone before he says, “I think you all know by now, but I want to call HYDRA out. Today. In public, on the air. After that… we know things are going to move quickly. So we need a plan, and I trust you all to help me come up with the best one. 

From the corner, Nick’s chair squeaks a little as he leans forward, too. “What exactly are you planning to say?” he asks, and Steve can see his gaze going -- intentionally -- between himself and Bucky. 

“I’m going to say that what they said is true,” Steve answers. “I was an omega. Now I’m an alpha. But that’s not the part that matters. What matters is the organization I gave my life to stop _didn’t_ stop, and now they’re here, and a real threat, and I need help to stand against them. That if we drag them and what they’re doing out into the light, then we can bring them to justice. That their treason goes as high as the Secretary of State, at least.” 

He glances to Bucky. 

Bucky glances back at him, giving a slight nod of agreement, and trying to ignore the way Fury is studying him -- studying both of them -- with intensity. It’s a little unnerving. 

“What makes you think this won’t just drive them underground to lie low?” Hill asks, curious. 

“She’s got a point. I’m all for dragging out their dirty deeds into the public, but it’ll either send them farther underground or gunning for you even more,” Clint says after a moment. “Obviously we’ll be prepared for the second part, but -- we still don’t know where Natasha is. Or if they have her somewhere.” 

A chill goes down Bucky’s spine and he holds his breath for a moment, carefully not looking at Steve now. “I might have an idea.” 

Steve had been about to say something, about to say that they won’t _let_ HYDRA slip back underground, that they’ll expose so much that there won’t be any turning back. But then Bucky speaks -- and he holds his tongue, because this is what he values in Bucky, and he wants to hear what he has to say. And if Steve lets him speak, he knows that everyone else will, too. 

He glances at Bucky, offering him a small smile, and nods. Around the table, the attention turns to Bucky, ranging from curious to scrutinizing, but at least he has the floor. 

Bucky’s fairly certain Steve isn’t going to _like_ his idea, but when everyone turns their attention to him, Steve included, he rests his arms on the table in front of him and leans forward. “Brock Rumlow is my ex-boyfriend,” he says quietly. “We might be able to get information out of him if I can draw him out. And… I’m pretty sure I can.” 

Bucky is exactly right -- Steve _doesn’t_ like his idea, and it’s clear in his posture the second Bucky suggests it. He even takes a breath, like he’s going to say something, but he catches himself and stops, deliberately, looking around and trying to see what everyone else thinks. 

Fury and Hill don’t look surprised -- and Steve isn’t surprised they don’t. Tony looks caught between horror and glee, while Clint, Bruce, and Pepper have the look of people who likely know the name, but not the reason for most of the feelings behind it, past the fact that he clearly works for a Nazi faction trying to worm its way into one of the governments leading the free world. 

It’s Tony who eventually speaks first, glancing around the table before saying, “Okay, we’re all thinking it, so I’m just gonna say it -- how are you planning to do that without Cap there imploding?” 

That gets Steve to snort, and he glances around the table again before he says, “I don’t have to like a plan to get behind it. I want to hear him out.” 

Even if he would much rather just snap Rumlow’s neck. 

Bucky gives Steve an apologetic look, barely resisting the urge to reach out and rest a hand on his leg, or even just link their fingers together once more. “He doesn’t know I’m alive. Or where I am. I can call him. Feed him a story.” Use himself as bait to draw Rumlow out. “When he shows up, we ambush him. Put him under arrest, whatever.” 

“It sounds too easy,” Clint admits. 

Bucky nods slightly. “Brock’s not dumb, but -- let’s just say I’m a bit of a sore spot with him.” It’ll work. He knows it will. 

Steve does make a sound at that, but -- “Bucky’s right,” he says, trying not to sound too displeased with it, but it is the truth. “Brock’s already tried to play us off each other once. It didn’t work, but it did show me what he’s willing to do.” 

That, and the fact that he’d tried to control Bucky more than once with a bite -- There’s something there, niggling at the back of Steve’s mind, that feels like more than just stupid alpha possessiveness. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t just dismiss it out of hand. “It might be more than Brock, honestly. Buck, you said -- The Secretary of State. Pierce. He oversaw what happened to you.” Steve doesn’t like airing dirty laundry like that, but in this case, it’s important. It certainly makes Fury sit up straighter, that he can see out of the corner of his eye. 

“This is how we knew Pierce was HYDRA,” Steve says, glancing up, looking at Fury. “I think Bucky’s more valuable to them than we know, and I think Brock might jump at the chance to look like a hero.” 

Bucky nods, shifting his gaze momentarily to Fury, then to Steve. “But as far as he knows, I have no idea that he’s in on all of it. As far as he knows, I just think he’s my ex-boyfriend.” He presses his lips together. 

“So… a honeypot trap,” Tony says slowly, sitting back in his chair. “It’s unconventional for us.” 

“Might be why it could work,” Clint murmurs. 

Fury looks intrigued, Steve thinks -- or, at least, as intrigued as he ever looks. “So, you go running back to him, only this time, it’s on our terms.” He glances to Hill, who looks thoughtful. 

“It does even the odds a little,” she hums. “We can’t take on HYDRA head on -- sorry, Cap,” she says, glancing at him because yeah, okay. That is definitely what Steve would prefer to do. “Not like this. It’s not the best option. We can get them riled up with your little speech, but if we’re going to dig our way into _their_ side and really mean it… we could use something like this. If you’re willing to do it,” she adds, looking back to Bucky. 

The idea of being face to face with Brock again makes Bucky’s stomach do a flip-flop, but he also knows it might be exactly what they need. Especially if HYDRA _does_ have Natasha. He has no doubt that if they do, Brock will know all about it. He casts a sidelong glance at Steve, raising his eyebrows. Then he turns his attention back to Hill. “I am,” he says quietly, voice firm. 

“We should handle this part of things before the press conference, so we don’t arouse Rumlow’s suspicion,” Clint advises. 

“I agree,” Bucky admits. 

Steve sighs, but, “So do I.” He pauses, turns to Bucky. “I know I jumped on this press conference idea, but -- I can call it off. I can wait, if you think you need more time.” 

Pepper makes a soft sound, but what she says is, “It won’t be ideal, but -- it’s true. We can call it off. Or, rather, we can change it. We haven’t released actual details, just that it would be an official Avengers statement on Captain Rogers’ imprisonment. So if we need to change who’s making that statement, and what it is…” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile, but in the end, it’s up to Bucky, and how fast he wants this to move -- and how long he thinks he needs. 

“We’ve got a couple of hours before go time,” Tony points out. “What are you gonna tell Rumlow?” 

Bucky’s smile is grim. “The exact opposite of the truth,” he says, and this time he leans a little toward Steve, glancing at him again. “And exactly what he wants to hear.” 

Steve can take an educated guess or two about what that is; his lips twitch up into something approximating a knowing smile, but it’s tight, and he can’t pretend otherwise. He knows Bucky isn’t going to mean it, but there’s still a part of him that rebels at even letting Bucky talk to Brock again, let alone possibly be in the same room, let him touch him -- 

But he’s just being stupid and territorial. He knows what this is. And he trusts Bucky. 

“That’ll get him to come running,” is what he eventually says, and he means it. Knowing Brock, it will. He glances at Bucky, and nods. “So -- you get what you can from Brock. And we don’t let him walk away.” That gets a look to Clint, to Fury, to Hill. 

“And I plan on the press conference, but we keep the option to switch things up if we have to.” And that’s Tony’s realm, since he’s the only other Avenger used to being in front of a camera. “And we still need to find out about Natasha. If you can get anything out of Brock --” 

Well. Steve knows Bucky will do his best. He trusts that he will. And he believes in him, a hell of a lot more than he believes in Rumlow.


	16. Chapter 16

If Bucky had been trying to pull this off alone, he probably wouldn’t have been able to do it. But a glance around the run-down motel room has him half-convinced that he’d truly been staying there for the last few days. The bed is made but just rumpled enough to look like it’s been slept in recently. His clothes are hanging up in the small closet, a drying towel hanging up in the bathroom. The attention to detail that Fury and Hill and Clint had given everything is part of what’s going to finish selling this act he’s peddling. 

The rest of it is all going to be on Rumlow, and on his desire to be right. To gloat in Bucky’s face. And he knows Brock loves doing that very thing. He glances warily at the picture on the wall where the camera is hidden. It’s so miniscule that there’s no way someone will notice it, even if they’re looking. 

And there’s a good chance that Brock just might be looking. He’s not wearing the arm covering that Tony had made him, too afraid he’d use it instinctively and screw this up. But his arms _are_ covered in a sweater, and so is his neck. It’s something similar to what he’d worn around the bookstore before, not the least bit out of the ordinary for his wardrobe. He turns the TV on but mutes the volume, raking a hand through his hair to make sure it looks just the way it should for a guy who’s supposed to be depressed. 

He rubs at his eyes intentionally until they’re red-rimmed, and when the knock comes on the door, he holds his breath. 

_Here we go._

Bucky rises to answer it, pulling it open and trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding hard in his chest. Brock’s own face is more tired than usual, healing bruises visible and he has no doubt where those came from. He steps aside wordlessly to let him inside the room. 

Brock’s been having one hell of a week, but this has certainly turned things around. His luck is finally changing, and why shouldn’t it? He’s put so much work into this mission, he just can’t complain when suddenly -- finally -- it comes back and starts paying out dividends. 

So of course he jumps at the chance to meet up with Barnes. In fact, he jumps so fast he hasn’t bothered telling anyone else about it yet -- but that’s all to the better, because when he waltzes back in with Barnes in tow, he’ll have no one else there to take the credit but himself. And he’ll _get_ the credit. It’s past due. 

He crowds right into the room as soon as the door is open, eyes flickering from corner to corner, taking in the place, the look of it and the look of Barnes. That’s where his eyes eventually come to rest, on the omega with the messy hair, the red-rimmed eyes, the long sleeves and high collar and body language that says, Brock thinks, he’s finally ready to be cowed. _Good_. 

“Gotta give Cap credit,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “He held out longer than I thought he would’ve. But he showed his true colors in the end, huh?” 

It’s an effort for Bucky to keep his shoulders drooped, to not square them up in defense of Steve. This, after all, is exactly the reaction he’s been expecting. Counting on, in fact. He sniffs a little, shrugging. “All he’s worried about is his reputation,” he mutters, not meeting Brock’s eyes. “I don’t know what I’m even supposed to do now.” 

Bucky moves to sit down on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping. “I can’t live in a motel forever. All my money was tied up in the store and it’s gone.” 

Brock just shakes his head, the alpha part of him puffing up at the sight of the other man sitting on the bed, making himself smaller, keeping his head down. Properly put in his place. Maybe he’s gotta hand it to Cap there, too. All this time, and that was the key to really breaking Barnes. 

Well. It’s done now. And that’s what matters. “Yeah, that’s what you get for getting involved with _Captain America_ ,” Brock says, and the disdain in his voice at the name is clear. “He’s not even a real alpha, Barnes. ‘Course he wasn’t what you thought he was.” 

“I didn’t know that at the beginning,” Bucky says. That much is the truth. The whole truth is he’s never cared. Not for a second. Even if Steve had still been an omega, Bucky wouldn’t have cared. The feel of Brock’s fingers on his skin, though, make him feel just a little bit sick to his stomach, but he pushes that all down because this isn’t about him. Not anymore. It’s about so much more. 

Brock steps up to the bed, because this is the part where he has to play it a little differently. This is the part where he definitely needs to win Barnes over, because a willing test subject is just so much easier to deal with, even if an unwilling one will work, too. “But I am,” he says, fingers sliding down to take Bucky’s jaw and tip it up, maybe a little gentler than he would’ve done, before. “And you know it. It’s why you called me. You know I know what’s best for you.” 

Bucky reluctantly lifts his gaze to look at Brock, but he keeps his eyes just to the side because he knows direct eye contact with him is a bad idea. Brock hates it, and right now Bucky needs him to buy into the idea that he’s finally broken. “Yes,” he whispers, voice wavering just a little. “I screwed things up between us.” He swallows. “I get it, now. What you were trying to do. You were trying to protect me. Right?” 

“Exactly,” Brock says, pleased to see that Barnes has figured it out. Or, at least, figured out exactly what Brock wanted him to figure out. “I know it’s hard for an omega out there, on their own. I’m just trying to look out for you.” And put him in his place -- and keep him there. But he knows that kind of talk isn’t what Barnes likes, because he didn’t grow up as an omega. He doesn’t know -- yet -- how to accept the things he should. So Brock tailors his language a little, because this is fucking important. He won’t fail this mission again. He _needs_ this. HYDRA needs this. 

“But, if you apologize, I might be willing to give us another chance.” Maybe that’s not necessary for the mission, but goddamn, Brock wants an apology. “I could still help you. I can still give you what you need.” 

Bucky tamps down on the immediate rush of anger and disgust he feels, reminding himself he is a soldier on a mission. And he’s not going to fail. Not this time. Not when the stakes are so high.

He closes his eyes, knowing it’ll play to the image of an ashamed, lost omega, but also because it’s easier to force out words he doesn’t mean when he doesn’t have to look at the other man. “I am sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t want to admit that this is what I am now. I spent my whole life as a beta up until a few months ago and -- I still don’t even know what happened to me. Nothing makes any sense.” There’s something to be said for blending the truth with a lie, and he’s spilling as much truth as he is lying at the moment. “And I took that out on you. I’m sorry.” 

It’s pretty good, as far as apologies go. Brock’s lips curl up into a satisfied smile, and he hums softly. “I can help you make sense of it,” he promises, and this is something he truly believes in -- this is his mission, yes, but this is HYDRA. HYDRA takes chaos and makes order. They can help Bucky find his place in a new order, where people are alphas or omegas, and everything is simple. No betas. No in-betweens. 

Brock sits next to Bucky on the bed -- but not close enough to touch. And he doesn’t reach out, instead planting his palms behind him and leaning back, pure alpha confidence. “But let’s be clear. I’m doing you a favor, taking you back. Showing you your place. You’re gonna be grateful this time. Just like you were before, right?” Because at first, Bucky had seemed grateful. It was only over time that he’d started to get ideas about being more independent, pretending he was a beta. That is the kind of thing that can’t happen again. 

It takes everything in Bucky not to tense or blanch when Brock sits down beside him. He’s _glad_ that the man doesn’t touch him again. Back at the beginning, he’d been so drawn to Brock, so attracted to him that it had overrode his common sense. It couldn’t be farther from the truth now. And maybe it’s because he’s actually bonded with Steve now, or maybe he’s just recovered enough from all that’s happened, but he’s not sure what he’d ever seen in Brock at all.

Still. He sighs softly, letting his shoulders dip a bit more, nodding slowly, keeping his eyes downcast. “Yes, sir,” he whispers. “I’ll be good. Let you teach me.” The words taste like rot on his tongue even as he utters them. He thinks of Natasha, of her strength and her sharp wit. He needs to figure out how to shift this even more in his favor, get Brock to stumble a little, give him something without even realizing that’s what he’s doing. “Is he back in custody yet?” he asks, pressing his lips together. “Captain America?” 

The words might be unpleasant for Bucky to say, but the make Brock relax, smile broadening. At least until Bucky mentions Rogers; that gets a huff that is more than a little disdainful. “Bastard actually went to ground. It won’t last long,” Brock says, lips curling up again. “I know Rogers. Better than you do.” He’s been on the man’s team for a long time, and it’s been valuable knowledge so far. “He’s not good at hiding. It’s not his style. You don’t have to worry about him.” 

Brock glances at Bucky. “Although if you have any information that can help us, you could make it happen faster.” 

Bucky uses every ounce of bitterness that he feels toward Brock, toward HYDRA in general, and lets it flood his voice when he responds. “Wish I did. He paid the motel manager for a room for me, told me to stay put. That was three days ago. Haven’t heard from him since.” He exhales, glancing sideways at Brock, too. “They’ll put him away for good? On the Raft?” 

Brock swears softly under his breath, but it’s not really any different than what he expected. Rogers isn’t good at hiding but he isn’t stupid, either. “The Raft’s better than what I’d recommend doing with him,” he says, but he’s not disagreeing. HYDRA needs Cap alive. Just not comfortable. 

Then Brock’s smile turns a little meaner. “Well, no need to stay here when Cap’s clearly abandoned you. You can stay with me.” Because they both know Bucky doesn’t have anywhere else to go. “And I’ve got somebody I’d like you to meet.” Again. Because Pierce will want to see that his project is alive and well, and in Brock’s custody. “Someone who’ll want to know everything you know about Rogers. You can help us bring him in. Make him regret whatever he promised you, because he clearly ain’t delivering.”

“Really?” There’s no mistaking the hint of hopefulness in Bucky’s voice at Brock’s offer. There’s not a lot of doubt in his mind who Brock wants to take him to meet, and he considers the danger and possible consequences of actually going with him. He knows that decision won’t be his alone; some of the others are monitoring everything that’s happening in the room. He’s glad it’s not his call to make this time. 

“I know he was looking for his friend Natasha,” Bucky says as he rises to his feet. “If I had to lay bets -- wherever she is, is where he is now or where he’s trying to go.” His words are matter of fact, still bitter, and he kind of hates the easy way he can play the role of twice-burned omega. It’s not who he is, but it’s not like Brock knows that. Brock doesn’t know him at all. Never has. 

Brock just gives Bucky that same mean smile, and doesn’t move to help when Bucky gets up to pack. It’s not his job; Bucky can clean up after himself. He’ll stay right here and watch, because maybe the guy’s got a bum arm, which is really a shame, but the rest of him isn’t so bad to look at. 

He does snort at that, though -- “We figured he might.” But it was only one of several possibilities, and it’s nice to have that confirmed. “Which means he’ll be walking right into a trap. She’s not an easy one to keep quiet, but when you have enough resources to throw at a problem…” Brock’s grin is positively feral. “If he thinks getting back into the Triskelion is gonna be hard, he’s got no idea what it’s gonna be like, trying to get back out again with his Widow in tow.” 

There’d been talk of putting her on the Raft. Of making Cap break in there, only to find himself caught. But that would’ve taken more time, and the idea is to end this, to get Steve back in custody as soon as possible. The Triskelion is more easily accessible -- and just as defensible. More than half the agents there are on HYDRA’s side, and the ones that aren’t have been carefully cataloged. There are plans in place. Whereas _they_ don’t know that there are some of their coworkers who can’t be trusted. “You have no idea how deep this goes. But if you want in… I think you might be able to find out.” 

_Bingo_ , Bucky thinks, glad that he’s currently faced away from Brock because the tiniest of smirks touches his mouth. Brock might not know him, but he sure as hell has Brock figured out, and having it confirmed makes him feel just a little sliver of victory. It’s easily tempered by the confirmation that the bastards who’d held him captive, experimented on him, ruined his arm and altered his designation now have _Natasha._ And she might be even better equipped at taking care of herself than he’s ever been, but there are a lot of them. The odds simply aren’t in her favor.

The fact that Brock even names the location of where she’s being held is the icing on the cake. He pulls things out of the closet as calm and efficiently as possible, stuffing them into his bag. 

“Even with my arm like this?” he asks, sounding uncertain, mostly because he’s stalling for time, but also hoping that maybe he’ll spill more details before they head out of the motel -- either for the Avengers to detain Brock or for Bucky to be led right into the viper pit and be a man on the inside. He doesn’t know which way this will turn out, but he trusts that the others -- Steve’s family -- will have his back either way it plays out. 

Brock huffs. “I don’t think what you’ll be asked to do requires the use of both arms.” After all, Barnes was a soldier, sure -- but he’s an omega now. He certainly won’t be soldiering for HYDRA. But he _is_ a valuable test case, and Brock can’t say for sure what Pierce will or won’t want him for. He just knows it won’t be the same role Barnes used to play in the Army. He might as well get used to that fact now. “Omegas can’t serve, honey. You know that.” 

He finally pushes himself off the bed, walking around the room a bit, inspecting the place where Cap left Barnes. It’s lower class than what he might have expected, but why pay top dollar for Barnes to be comfortable, either? He can see the appeal. He’s starting to see that everything about Rogers is just a big, phony act. All that indignance and righteousness are really just masks for selfishness. It’s really too bad they couldn’t have gotten him on their side. He _would_ make a damn fine operative, if he could just get off his high horse. 

“Right,” Bucky agrees quietly. “No, I know. I’m just not sure what they could possibly want with me, like this. At all.” He thinks Brock is sure to eat that up, since it’s what he’d indicated for most of their relationship. That Bucky is worthless except for being _his._ “I know I can’t serve.” He pauses, feigning hesitation. “I don’t even really want to anymore.” It’s a flat-out lie, but he also thinks Brock will buy it, since he believes omega instincts aren’t supposed to be for things like serving in the Army or for fighting. “Maybe it just took a while for my instincts to change with the rest of me.” 

He carefully doesn't look at Brock, finishes placing his belongings in his duffle bag and sets it on the bed. 

The smirk on Brock’s face definitely says he’s buying it, and that he likes what he hears. “Well,” he says quietly, growing a little more serious, “I can’t blame you for not putting it together. You’re patient zero. After Cap, you’re only the second person who’s lived through this procedure. So I can think of a lot of people who are going to be interested in why and how, if they’re going to repeat it.” 

He lets out a breath that sounds a lot like a scoff. “The world’s a lot more complicated than it needs to be, Barnes. Think about it. What good are betas, anyway? They don’t fit in, they don’t serve a purpose. We don’t need them. They’re just holding us back. Complicating matters that don’t need to be so complex. Think about if we could change it.” 

Bucky’s chest tightens at that, a hint of shock flickering through him, even if he thinks maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised by the revelation. “Change every beta to an alpha or an omega,” he murmurs. And wouldn’t that just give alphas the ultimate control over the way the world is shaped and changed? He realizes, of course, that _that_ is the exact plan. “How’s it decided who’s going to be an alpha and who’s going to be an omega?” How had they decided what to mutate him into? 

His voice is curious but still quiet, meek. It seems to be the best, easiest way to get answers out of the other man, and he has a feeling he’s loaded with valuable information that the Avengers -- that _Steve_ \-- will be able to make use of. 

Brock just gives him this look, like he’s done very well in class. At the question though, he shrugs. “S’easier to go that way.” In truth, HYDRA hasn’t yet figured out how to make a beta an alpha, let alone how to make an omega an alpha. It’s one more thing about Erksine’s serum that’s been a bitch to crack. It’s why the version Barnes got isn’t as effective, and why it remade the beta as an omega. 

That, and omegas are easier to control. Easier to keep down. It was the obvious best first choice. Make sure you can keep a tight rein on what you make, before you try for something harder. “And besides. The world doesn’t need so many alphas. Better to consolidate the power. Don’t feel bad,” he says, and his smile is not kind at all. “Not everyone has what it takes to be a leader. It’s better to accept that than fight against it.” 

A phrase floats through Bucky’s mind and for a moment he feels like he’s somewhere else entirely, bright lights shining in his eyes -- close, _so_ close, and there’s phantom pain throbbing in his left arm. “Order through pain,” he whispers, and he knows, with certainty, at that moment, that Secretary Pierce wasn’t the only one in the room with him with those scientists and doctors as they experimented on him. As they _tortured_ him. 

Brock had been there, too. Distantly he could hear the man uttering those words from the corner of that room, voice not loud enough that Bucky had been _meant_ to hear, but he’d heard nonetheless. 

“I think I get it.” 

Brock huffs a little, almost -- almost -- looking impressed. “Exactly.” He hadn’t realized Barnes had heard that, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to hear it more often, when he comes back to the fold. “Some people are meant to give that pain. And some people are meant to take it.” Pain causes fear, and fear causes obedience. Especially in omegas. It’s the best way to control them, and Barnes is proving that right now. Pierce will be very glad to have him back. 

Brock takes one more look around. “Come on. Finish packing and let’s go.”

Bucky picks up his duffle bag off the bed once more, sliding the strap onto his right shoulder. “I have everything I need,” he responds, feeling like he’s walking a fine line somewhere between victory and utter disgust. He lets Brock lead the way to the door, his heart beating hard in his chest. He doesn’t want to go anywhere with him, doesn’t want to look at him a second longer. The hot sting of utter betrayal is rushing through his veins and he can’t quite process it yet. 

And then everything happens at once. Brock opens the door only to find a pissed-off Clint Barton standing right there with an arrow pointed at his throat, and behind him are Fury and Hill, both aiming handguns at him. 

Bucky sees the shock register on Brock’s face. And without any more hesitation, he draws his right arm back and slams his fist hard into Brock’s still-healing jaw. He watches Brock hit the floor and he glares down at him. “Guess you’re someone meant to take it,” he says flatly. 

***

Steve trusts Bucky. He trusts Barton, and Fury, and Hill. But he doesn’t trust Rumlow, and he doesn’t do well just sitting and listening to ops when he can’t be there. It’s why his stomach is tied up in knots, why he’s got the video feed playing on his phone even as he lets one of Pepper’s people prep him for the press conference. And the more he hears, the more he knows he’s got to go out and do this. He’s got to make a statement. And it’s got to be today. 

The collar of his suit feels a little stifling against the mark he wishes he could show people -- could show the world. But he knows he can’t, and eventually he lets his hands drop when Pepper swats them away from the neckline for about the fifth time, giving her an apologetic smile just as JARVIS announces, “Five minutes until the conference is expected to start, Captain,” and he takes a few deep breaths, gets up out of the chair where the assistant has been fussing with his hair, and heads for the door that leads to the room where they’re holding the conference on the ground floor of Stark Tower. 

But Pepper stops him with a hand on his arm before he can quite get his fingers around the handle. “Let me go out there first,” she says, gently but also firmly, like she won’t take no for an answer. “Let me get a feel for the room, and then we’ll call you in.” 

So Steve’s stuck waiting again -- but he can hear the commotion and the exclamations in the room that come when Pepper says who it is that’s going to speak, and he just goes ahead and pushes his way in, coming face to face with a crowd of clamoring reporters. He gives Pepper that same apologetic smile, but this time she steps back and lets him take the podium so he can say, “Well, as you can see -- the reports of my disappearance were greatly exaggerated.” 

Bruce smiles a little from where he’s sitting in the back of the room and he nods, giving Steve the thumbs-up sign. He looks a little nervous about the entire press conference, but since most of the other Avengers are on another mission, it’s up to him and Pepper -- and Tony -- to provide moral support in their absence. 

“Captain America!” One of the reporters calls out, waving her hand. “When were you released from custody?” 

“ _Were_ you released from custody?” another reporter asks, sounding wary. 

That makes Steve laugh a little, mostly because, “No. As you can probably guess, I wasn’t released from custody. But that custody was unlawful -- how could it be lawful, when there are no laws to deal with someone like me?” 

He waits until he’s got the room’s full attention, and then he goes on: “I was an omega. It’s true. And now I’m an alpha. The serum, which has been lost since its creator was killed, changed me. I knew it might. He told me it probably would. I accepted that risk. And if there are going to be consequences now, then yes -- I accept those, too. 

“But those consequences should come from a just and lawful government. I’m here, right now, to tell you that what we have in place? Isn’t. Because that government has been infiltrated by HYDRA -- the organization you all know I tried to take out when I went into the ice. I thought I had. We all did. But I didn’t, and they’ve been working their way into every nook and cranny of our government ever since, and it’s time to make them pay for it. Because they want to take what happened to me and twist it. They want to control people by controlling their designation. We have proof of this, just like we have proof that their influence goes much deeper and wider than just a few people. Than just a few branches of government. They have connections all the way up to the Secretary of State, if not higher. And I’m here to tell them -- and you -- that we won’t let them control anything from the shadows any longer.” 

The relative silence from a moment before erupts into shouts and questions from all over the room. 

“What proof do you have?” 

“Captain, what’s it like to go from being an omega to an alpha?” 

“Did Peggy Carter know about your designation changing?” 

Everyone is trying to talk over everyone else and Bruce finds himself cringing, shrinking back a little from the rest of the crowd, taking a deep breath and letting his focus zero in on Steve once more. 

Steve waits for a moment, waiting for the noise to die down so he can start actually answering questions -- in the order he chooses. He gives Bruce as reassuring a smile as he can, given that they’re separated by a sea of reporters, and takes a breath to start in. 

“Yes, Agent Carter knew about my designation changing. And it was about as confusing as everything else -- it wasn’t the only thing that changed about me, you might have noticed.” 

There’s a twitter of nervous laughter, but at least this time, they seem to wait for him to go on. “But the thing is, it didn’t really change who I was. It changed some things, yes, like whether I go into heat or rut. But that’s not who I am. It never was, and it never will be. What it changed was how society saw me and how it treated me, and that’s what I want you to think about.” 

The noise starts to grow again, so Steve opens his mouth to go on, quickly, before he can’t get more out. “If you want the proof about me, I’ll submit to whatever tests you want. But as for the proof about HYDRA… we have an agent in the field right now who’s obtained video evidence of HYDRA’s plan. I’m sure JARVIS would be happy to share it with you.” Steve glances up a little, knowing JARVIS is listening in and will take care of whatever needs to happen to make sure that information gets relayed. “HYDRA thinks that by changing people’s designations, it can consolidate power and keep people in line through fear. I think that’s not going to work. But it’s not up to me. It’s up to all of us, together, to stop that from happening. In more ways than one.”

A screen drops down from the ceiling and the room goes silent as the lights go dim, video beginning to play on the screen: Bucky and Rumlow talking in the rundown motel room. 

_“I can’t blame you for not putting it together. You’re patient zero. After Cap, you’re only the second person who’s lived through this procedure. So I can think of a lot of people who are going to be interested in why and how, if they’re going to repeat it.”_

Bruce watches the video along with everyone else, holding his breath. He’ll give it to Steve -- this new guy had gotten exactly what they needed to present to the public, and he’d gotten it fast. There’s a tiny smile on his mouth and he nods at Steve from the back of the room. 

_“The world’s a lot more complicated than it needs to be, Barnes. Think about it. What good are betas, anyway? They don’t fit in, they don’t serve a purpose. We don’t need them. They’re just holding us back. Complicating matters that don’t need to be so complex. Think about if we could change it.”_

Steve lets the video speak for itself, pride and worry warring in his chest as the reporters begin to talk once more, conversing amongst themselves animatedly. “Captain, who are we seeing on the screen?” someone calls out. 

“That’s Brock Rumlow -- formerly on my own team at SHIELD, and a confirmed HYDRA agent,” Steve says, pointing to Brock on the screen. “And the other man is Sergeant Barnes.” He wishes he didn’t even have to give that much of Bucky’s identity away, but Brock had already said his name, and he knows Bucky would have accepted that risk without having to be asked. But he doesn’t give his first name -- not yet, in the hopes of stemming at least some of the flood of invasive questions and investigations he can already see rising up. “He’s our agent -- an Avenger,” he says, because fuck it, it’s true. “And he put himself in personal danger to get this information so I could show it to you.” 

“Captain Rogers, what’s your plan to get rid of HYDRA?” someone called out. 

Steve’s lips quirk up at that: “If I say it in here, it won’t stay confidential very long. And right now, we need that.” 

“How do you know that Secretary Pierce is part of this conspiracy?” 

“The word of someone on my team is all the evidence I need on Pierce,” Steve says. “But I know it’s not good enough for the rest of the world. That’s why I need you. Do your jobs. Dig around. Dig deep and be brutal. Find out how deep this goes, and who we can trust, and who we can’t. That will help us do _our_ jobs better. We’re all a part of this now, and the evidence you find can and will be used to bring these people to justice.” 

“Is this Sergeant Barnes’ first mission as an Avenger? How did he become one of you?” 

Steve nods. “His first mission as an official Avenger, yes. And he got on the team the same way any of us did -- for being invaluable and unique, and able and willing to protect the people around him who maybe can’t do it themselves.” 

Steve knows it’ll come out that they’re mated. He knows that storm is coming, but it’s not what matters right now and he won’t let it undermine Bucky’s authority as a new Avenger, any more than he would ever have tried to undermine Peggy’s authority as an SSR agent. Bucky might have gotten on the team because he met Steve, but the fact of the matter is, the title doesn’t change who Bucky _is_ , and that’s _really_ why he’s on the team. 

“I think you can appreciate that time is going to be of the essence. My team and I are going to move quickly, which is why I need you to do the same. But I needed you -- everyone -- to know that there is something wrong with the system in place right now, and we’re going to put it right, and give you a government _you_ selected, that has _your_ best interests in mind.” 

“Captain --” 

At that moment, Tony steps up to stand beside Steve, holding his hand out. “I’m afraid we need to get busy. World saving and all that,” he tells the reporters, offering them a proud smile. “Thank you for your time. We all look forward to reading and watching your coverage to come.” He shuts the microphone off, nodding toward the exit and then following Steve toward it, Pepper right behind them. 

“Great job, Steve,” Pepper says warmly, as they head down the hall. 

“Not bad,” Tony agrees, keeping pace with Steve easily enough. “I’ve got the quinjet on standby. Do we need to meet before we head to the Triskelion?” he asks briskly. 

Steve grins a little at Tony, if wryly -- “Thanks for the assist.” He does fine in front of reporters, doesn’t even mind. But maybe all the prying about Bucky, which had been only natural, had started getting under his skin. 

He takes a couple of deep breaths as they make their way to the elevator. “I don’t think so,” he says, checking that he’s got everything he needs already attached to or in the pockets of his suit. God, he wishes he could change into something else now that the press conference is done, but the same reasoning stands -- this is what he needs to wear when he takes down HYDRA. “I think we need to get in and find Natasha as soon as possible. They might not know _we_ know it’s a trap and I want the element of surprise as long as we can manage it.” 

“Reading my mind, Cap,” Tony responds just as wryly. They’re joined at the elevator a moment later by Bruce and JARVIS opens the doors so they can step on. “I’m going to suit up. I’ll meet you on the roof in five.” Tony glances at Steve. “Just so you know, your boy’s en route back here with Fury, Hill and Barton. And, of course, everyone’s least-favorite STRIKE member. Fury and Hill will handle Rumlow.” 

Steve visibly relaxes at that. “Thanks,” he breathes, and nods. He has no doubt that Fury and Hill can manage to keep Rumlow in check and do whatever they need to get more information out of him, if it’s to be had. But the fact that Bucky had gotten exactly what they needed in such a short amount of time… Steve’s glad the gamble had worked. Not to mention utterly proud and pleased. 

Now, though, Bruce looks wary. “Do you think you’re likely to uh -- need the Big Guy? Or should I plan on staying on the jet for backup?” 

Steve’s smile is reassuring, not really needing to think about it much before he answers. “I think you can stay on the jet. But I would like to know you’re there for backup, just in case. I don’t think they know we’re coming, but they’re not stupid. They’ll at least entertain the possibility, and if they’ve been holding Natasha this whole time, they’re not playing around.” 

Bruce relaxes, nodding. “I can do that,” he assures him. 

The elevator doors slide open and Tony steps off with Pepper, turning to look at them. “See you in a few,” he states, giving a mock salute right before the doors slide shut once more. 

Bruce glances sideways at Steve, offers him a small smile. “You handled that better than I would have,” he admits. 

Steve lets out a breath, sagging a little against the wall. “I wish I hadn’t had to give them even that much information about Bucky. But they’re going to find out anyway, better that it comes from me. From us.” He shakes his head a little. “Questions, I can answer, you know? I can say what I believe, what I know, what I think we need to do. It’s up to them now, though. We’re outnumbered, and that doesn’t mean we can’t win, but it does mean we have to play this as smart as possible. And one thing HYDRA never was, was stupid.” 

Of course, his lips twitch up a little, because, “Some of their agents, though…” 

It’s clear he means Brock, and it’s clear he has nothing but disdain for the man. “He is exactly the type of alpha I always hated.” 

“Me too,” Bruce admits quietly, pressing his lips together. He gazes at Steve for a moment. “Good thing for us, there are plenty of the other kind around, right?” His smile is a little more than it had been just a second before. “Seems like Bucky’s going to be a good fit.” He means that in more ways than just as an Avenger, but he knows Steve is smart enough to pick up on that. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, knowing what Bruce is implying with everything he’s saying, and hoping his gratitude is clear in his face and his voice. “He’s -- he’s so smart, and so resourceful, and so selfless. I --” He stops himself, but then he looks at Bruce, and figures there’s no reason not to say it. “I love him, but that’s not why I want him on the team. I genuinely think he’s a good fit. But I know when the rest comes out, they’re going to want to tear him to pieces over it.” 

And that’s why Steve wants to put that off as long as possible. 

Bruce considers that, grimacing. “The thing is, being in the public eye… being an Avenger. We’re always going to face the press. People aren’t always going to like us. They aren’t always going to think we’re doing the right things.” He looks down at the floor. “They analyze everything about us as people, as a team.” He draws in a breath. “The good part is, we don’t have to deal with that alone.” He looks back up at Steve once more. 

“He won’t face it alone. And neither will you.” 

Steve can’t help but smile. “I know. And it does help. I just wish it didn’t have to be that way.” He’s always preferred privacy. 

“I wish it didn’t either,” Bruce agrees. If there’s anyone who understands the desire not to be in the public eye any more than necessary, it’s him. He doesn’t thrive off it the way Tony does, or find amusement in it the way Clint seems to. But Tony and Clint don’t have to worry about a giant rage monster taking over, either. His own fault, but still. He gets it. 

Steve definitely understands how Bruce feels -- at least, as much as he can, he thinks. He knows the attention is more of a stressor than anything for the man, and he can’t blame him for wanting to keep the spotlight as far away from himself as he can. 

Still, “I understand that it’s part of the deal,” he says, quietly. It’s the price they pay to do what they do. And he’s willing to accept it. He trusts that Bucky is, too. Although, “Did you know, he didn’t even recognize me at first?” Steve laughs a little. “It was actually really nice.” 

“Tony says he’s an Army guy,” Bruce says as the elevator doors slide open once more and he steps off after Steve. 

Steve nods , heading for the waiting jet, knowing that it’s probably good to go but wanting to check it over himself. “That’s right. Until pretty recently -- until HYDRA captured his unit and did what they did to him. Then he was discharged. Omegas aren’t allowed to serve, and HYDRA… you saw what Tony made for his arm?” 

Bruce gives a short nod as they head toward the quinjet. “Tony said he’d lost most functionality in his left arm,” he confirms. “And he showed me what he was thinking about and then… well. He Tony’d.” Meaning he’d locked himself into his lab for about 36 hours straight and when he’d emerged, the whole damned thing had been _done_. 

That makes Steve laugh a little, because yeah, he can picture it that process exactly. It’s not a new thing. 

“I take it that it works?” There’s little doubt in Bruce’s mind, because Tony _is_ that good at what he does. 

“Yeah,” Steve says softly, thinking of Bucky’s face, thinking of Bucky’s entire body changing, his whole demeanor. He thinks of the way Bucky made himself look and act when he was drawing Rumlow in, and he thinks of the difference between the two. “Yeah, it works. It’s amazing. I don’t… know how to repay him. And I know that’s not what he’s looking for, but --” 

Steve cuts himself off, shrugging a little. “I know Bucky’s even more grateful than I am. And I know it’s just Tony’s way of saying _Welcome to the Avengers_ , but sometimes… he’s a lot.” 

He knows Bruce understands that. 

The two of them share a smile and Bruce pauses as he spots a helicopter approaching. “Looks like they’re back just in time,” he remarks, giving Steve another small smile. He looks at him for a second. “You’re right, though. Tony doesn’t want you to repay him. Either of you. He’s just… got more of a heart than he likes to let on.” 

“You’re right,” Steve says. “He does. I guess the best thing is to just… use it well.” 

And he knows Bucky will, because he knows how much it means to him. 

The helicopter touches down on the landing mark a moment later and Bruce lets Steve turn his attention there as he boards the quinjet quietly to wait. Steve’s head swivels to the helicopter like a dog to its master; he doesn’t quite grin, but his whole body somehow both relaxes and comes to attention with anticipation. He heads for the helicopter, resisting the urge to run toward it, even though that’s exactly what he wants to do. He wants to see Bucky, wants to touch him, and he knows that’s just regular separation anxiety, but it’s there, all the same. He doesn’t want it to look like he didn’t think Bucky could handle the job just fine, though, so he keeps his steps slow and deliberate. Calm and completely normal.

Bucky’s mostly silent on the short flight even as Clint tries to engage him in conversation. It’s not that he isn’t grateful for the distraction, but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than the desire he has to get back to the tower and, more importantly, back to _Steve._ He’s a little upset he’s missed the press conference after telling Steve he’d be there watching, but he knows as well as anyone that even the best-laid plans don’t always work out. 

He leaves the others behind to deal with Brock, who’s slowly starting to regain consciousness from Bucky _knocking him out._ It hadn’t been his intention, but he also has no regrets about the punch he’d thrown because the asshole deserved it. That and _more._

Bucky ducks his head as he makes his way away from the chopper, catching sight of Steve approaching and exhaling a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding until that moment. He moves a little quicker, not quite running, but walking faster than normal to meet him halfway, and when they meet, he wraps his arms around Steve wordlessly. 

Steve’s determined to take his cues from Bucky; all the same, he sags a little and loops his arms around Bucky’s back easily when the other pulls him into a solid hug. “Hey,” he says, as softly as he can and still be heard over the sound of the helicopter’s engine powering down. “You were amazing. That plan was brilliant.” 

And he can imagine how hard it was, because he saw Bucky on that video. But he’d done what had to be done, and he’d gotten Brock to spill more than enough. “Cleanup go all right?” 

It feels so good to be back in Steve’s arms that for a moment it feels like Bucky can’t even breathe. It’s an actual struggle to pull away when they part so that Steve can look and see the rest of the team getting off the helicopter with Brock in tow. “Yeah. Went fine.” 

Just then, Steve catches sight of the rest of the team starting to get off the chopper; Rumlow looks groggy and there’s a fresh bruise blooming over what looks like several older ones on his cheek. Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as he glances at Bucky, not looking surprised so much as curious and impressed. 

Bucky glances over his shoulder, watching as Maria shoves the man in front of her, his arms cuffed behind his back. Then he glances back at Steve and gives him a slight shrug at that eyebrow raise. “I accidentally knocked him out. Guess he’s still recovering from some previous damage.” His lips quirk upwards involuntarily. 

Steve laughs, unable to keep himself from saying, “Oh my God, I love you even more than I did five seconds ago,” before reeling Bucky back in and pressing his nose to his hair -- just for a second, letting himself take one, two deep breaths before he straightens up again. “I guess I really didn’t have anything to worry about. And I knew I wouldn’t.” 

It just hadn’t stopped him from worrying, anyway, and it probably never will. He glances up to Clint, who’s also heading in their direction, more toward the jet than the door that leads inside, which is where Hill and Fury seem to be directing Rumlow. “I have a feeling he’s really going to regret taking your call.” 

Bucky follows Steve’s gaze to where Fury and Hill are wrangling Brock into the elevator, but not before he glares hatefully at them. 

Bucky can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face as he looks back at Steve. “Good.” 

“You wanna get the sleeve back on? I assume you want to come with us to the Triskelion,” Steve says.

“Oh, I definitely want to come with you,” Bucky agrees immediately. He knows it’s going to be dangerous. He knows they’re going to be outnumbered, but that’s all the more reason he wants to go. He wants to help even the odds. He wants to be part of the solution, part of what puts an end to HYDRA once and for all. 

He’s also not ready to let Steve out of his sight again just yet. “Do you know where it is?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. Because he could still go without the sleeve, but he definitely wouldn’t be able to help as much as he’ll be able to if he’s wearing it. 

“Knowing Tony, it’s probably already stashed on the jet,” Steve says, tilting his head to indicate the quinjet, though not taking his eyes off Rumlow until the elevator doors slide shut. 

Then he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips, and forces himself to step just a little away, because they have a job to do, and now is not the time to get distracted. Or put on a show, even if the only people left on this level are his friends. “You’ve probably already got a locker. Let’s go find it.” 

***

It’s really kind of amazing how much difference having full use of his left arm makes. Bucky’d almost forgotten, lulled into an almost sense of complacency running the bookstore and trying to do his best to ignore the part of him that still wanted to be out in the field, saving lives and making a real difference. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he moves through the Triskelion, ushering frightened staff who clearly have no idea what’s going on out of the building. 

It’s easy to spot the difference between the good guys and the bad guys -- because the bad guys tend to pull weapons on you. His instincts are so well honed that he sees the twitch of the man’s hand before he can reach for his gun, and he punches him in the face rather than shooting him. People should have to pay for their crimes. Death is far too easy. 

Bucky uses a pair of cuffs on the man, disarms him, and tucks the gun into the belt of his suit and keeps going. Distantly he can hear an explosion -- he assumes that’s Iron Man's work. 

Teaming up with Bucky made the most sense -- Steve’s familiar with the building and familiar with Bucky, and they work well as a team. He lets Bucky take point, trusting him to handle getting people out or getting them disabled, depending on the situation, while Steve does what he can to locate Natasha. He’s got the tablet Tony gave him plugged into the nearest workstation so JARVIS can sift through the internal servers and pull up the communications he needs to find her. 

It doesn’t take long. “Soldier!” he calls, yanking the connector out and folding the tablet away, jogging easily to catch up to where Bucky’s got the next hallway over cleared. A neat row of handcuffed HYDRA agents sits against one wall, and Steve maybe can’t help the pleased smile that tugs at his lips, even in the midst of all of this. “I found her. Down on one of the basement levels.” It’s also a level they use for labs, which worries him a little, but it doesn’t matter whether it’s labs, gyms, locker rooms, or conference rooms -- they’re going to get Natasha out, regardless of where she is. “I don’t know if I trust the elevators, but the stairs are around the corner.” 

Bucky makes sure the hall is clear before he glances over his shoulder at Steve. “Then that’s where we go,” he agrees, turning and leading the way once more, this time around the corner and toward the stairwell Steve’s indicated. There are a handful of operatives coming up the steps and one of them manages to fire a shot before Bucky can get the jump on him. Fortunately, it only clips his arm, the bullet bouncing off the metal. Well. That’s a pretty awesome bonus, he thinks, before he kicks the guy down the steps, toppling the other two over as well. He ties their hands with zip ties, not bothering to confiscate their weapons since they’re out of commission anyway. 

“All clear, Cap!” he calls back to Steve. 

Steve’s heart had almost stopped when that bullet grazed Bucky -- until he’d heard the _ping!_ of it deflecting off metal, and saw Bucky keep right on going. He’s got to hand it to Stark. 

And to Bucky, because watching him handle those agents is… kind of hot. And he probably shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, so he shoves it aside in anticipation of letting Bucky know _later_ , when this is over, because right now, they’ve got to get to Natasha. 

He takes a position at Bucky’s six as they start down the stairs. “It’s about ten levels down,” he says, knowing that getting back up might be a hike for Bucky and Natasha, but they’ll make it. In fact… “Let’s make it harder to follow us,” he says, and drags two of the HYDRA agents’ bodies in front of the door, because that’s at least three hundred pounds blocking the door from swinging open. It might not stop anyone pursuing them for long, but at least it’ll give them a few minutes’ pause, and that can make all the difference. 

Bucky watches Steve block the door with the unconscious HYDRA agents and shoots him a grin as he drags another one over to help out. Then Steve directs Bucky down the stairs, and they continue on to the level where Natasha is being held. He pauses when Steve reaches out for his arm, squeezing it gently. 

“Let me take point.” Steve’s never been on this level, himself, but he knows the building better, and he’s better equipped to take a full frontal assault if that’s what they’re going to be walking into. 

Bucky pauses, giving a brief nod and standing aside so that Steve can take over the lead. He pulls his gun out from its holster, aiming it toward the floor and waiting. Non-lethal force has been possible so far, but he has a feeling that’s likely to change. Undoubtedly, they’re about to encounter more HYDRA operatives than they had upstairs. 

“On three?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as their eyes meet momentarily. 

Steve nods, watching Bucky for a moment, expression serious, but there’s also something else behind it -- he doesn’t _like_ fighting, but it’s a part of him, he was built to do it, and he never feels so alive, so driven, as when he’s doing it. “On three,” he agrees, holding up one hand and counting down silently. And then he shoulders the door open and they spill out onto the sublevel. 

It’s not empty. He hadn’t expected it to be, and he’s not disappointed. The thing is… it’s STRIKE One. It’s _his_ team, but they’re not his team anymore -- he’d learned that when they’d held him captive the first time. So Steve wastes no time in running full tilt toward the first two agents, planning to simply plow into them and take them down with sheer momentum. He does have a lot of it going for him. 

And then he’s throwing himself -- or his shield, or anything else he can find -- at every successive agent who rounds on him. There are doors at the end of the hall, and he can only guess that’s where they’re holding Natasha. 

Bucky’s right behind Steve when he bursts through that door and starts plowing them over as Bucky makes quick work of binding their hands and watching his back to make sure no one sneaks up from behind. He knows without words where Steve is heading, and there’s a moment of sick _dread_ that sweeps through him at the sign on the door that reads: _Biohazard: STOP! Laboratory Staff Only_.

He pushes himself off the ground, shutting down his emotions as swiftly as he can and firing his gun at one of the men who pulls his weapon on Steve. Just like that, the man is on the ground, rolling around in pain, blood staining the floor beneath him from the shot to his shoulder. Bucky kicks the gun away from him, scowling down as he passes by. 

Steve doesn’t even look. He trusts Bucky to have his back, just like he’ll stop anyone coming at them from ahead. And he’ll be the first one into the lab, not at all concerned about any biohazards, because he’s immune. But he does hold up a hand in the universal Army sign for _hold_ , because he doesn’t know what he’s walking into, and he doesn’t want to risk Bucky just because Steve knows he won’t get sick or poisoned or -- 

There’s Natasha, though. Steve’s heart leaps and his stomach drops as he sees her, strapped to a table and partly awake, clearly trying to stay alert, but there’s an IV bag trailing a tube down to one hand. That’s the first thing he pulls, trying to help her up, pulling at the straps until they break and glancing around the rest of the room. 

There’s no one here… and that worries him more than not. It feels like a setup -- even knowing it’s a trap, it makes him uneasy. That hadn’t been all of STRIKE in the hallway, and he’d heard what Rumlow had said. About the difference between walking in and walking out. He knows better than to assume it was just stupid posturing. 

“Nat?” he asks, because he needs to know if she’s awake enough to walk, or if he needs to carry her. 

“Hey, Steve,” Natasha greets him as he helps her sit up. Her voice is a little ragged, like she’s not fully awake. “Knew you’d come.” 

Steve’s more than a little uneasy in this setting; he doesn’t like it, even if he can’t say why. He does know that he was lucky, in so many ways, that what was done to him wasn’t done in a place like this. Even with his consent.

But the situation here and now, in _this_ lab, needs dealing with. “That’s what I do,” he says, helping Natasha sit up all the way.

Bucky had paused at the door, both because Steve signaled him to do so, but also because the sight of all the medical equipment is eerily familiar. He feels the telltale sign of a headache beginning to throb against his skull. He shuts his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath, then opens them once more, doing a quick visual sweep of the lab. There aren’t any other entrances of exits visible, so he turns his back to them, growing still at the sight of all the guards flooding in from the far end of the hall. “Cap, we got a problem,” he mumbles, knowing Steve will hear him. 

He does -- Steve glances back to Bucky, but there’s really only one thing that might be a problem right now. And it’s between them and the way out. “How many?” he asks, even as he shifts, slipping his body in front of Natasha’s, reaching behind him to encourage her to put her legs on either side of his waist so she can cling to his back. He’ll lose the use of his hands and arms, but he figures Natasha might have enough control over hers to make up for it. Plus, they have Bucky. It’ll have to be enough. 

Still, he figures it might be best to let someone else know where they are. “Stark, we’re on sublevel ten. I think we’ve got company, and they aren’t ready to let us leave.” 

Bucky doesn’t lower his weapon even as about twenty others are pointed directly at him. He eases himself slightly to the left so he’s blocking the door where Steve and Natasha are. “About twenty? Maybe more coming.” He can hear rapid footsteps pounding the stairs on the floor above them. 

“Captain Rogers,” a familiar voice greets from behind the HYDRA operatives, stepping forward. He pauses at the sight of Bucky, and smiles. “Well. This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think they’d allow you to come along, Sergeant.” 

Bucky’s fingers tighten a little on his gun, but he manages to keep his face a study in neutrality. 

“Why don’t you put the gun down, son?” Pierce suggests. 

Steve gets Natasha situated just as he hears Pierce tell Bucky to put down the gun. Something in his blood runs cold; he knows they can’t stop here, not now. They can’t let this man take control of the situation. But he also really hates the fact that Brock Rumlow was right. It won’t be easy to get out. 

But they’re still going to do it. 

Steve steps up behind Bucky, so he can see Pierce over his mate’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell your men to lower theirs, first?” he asks conversationally, even though every muscle in his body is tensed like a coiled spring. 

“Surely you don’t believe that the two of you are a match against all of us,” Pierce responds, voice still pleasant, as though he’s trying to kindly de-escalate the situation. 

Bucky feels Steve’s tension like it’s his own. He’s not about to lower his weapon unless _Steve_ is the one issuing that order. “Surely you know we’re not the only ones here.” As if on cue, there’s another explosion from above and he arches his eyebrows. 

“Also, there _are_ three of us,” Steve points out, voice wry but under the teasing, he’s deadly serious. He won’t be cowed by Pierce or the agents in front of him, and neither will Bucky or Natasha. 

The floor, walls, and ceiling rumble with the blast from above. “Not to mention the fact that I’ve exposed you to the public. Your plan doesn’t work as well when everyone knows about it. That’s why you didn’t want them to find out. HYDRA has always been an organization that works better in the shadows. Drag it out into the light, and it’s got no leg to stand on. Not in the free world.” 

And that’s what this is -- a free world. He intends to keep it that way. “Killing us won’t take any of that back. And besides; you’ve got the only two people who have ever successfully changed designations right in front of you. I don’t think you want us dead at all.” 

It’s not really very comforting. Steve knows there are a lot of things worse than death. But he’d rather stave off the immediate death part, and let their allies get to them.

There are definitely things that Bucky thinks are worse than death. He’s also not anymore eager to die than Steve is. Especially not _now_ , when he feels like he has so much more to live for than just a few months ago. He lifts his chin, eyes dark and intense as he stares back at Pierce. 

Pierce cocks his head, an amused smile on his face. “What on earth makes you think you’re the only two successful trials?” He shakes his head, taking a couple steps forward, but holding his hands up non-threateningly. “It’s true, we’ve been keeping an eye on Sergeant Barnes here for the last several months, hoping that perhaps he’d have developed… more interesting results than simply a designation switch. But you shouldn’t presume that we haven’t been successful with countless other individuals. Besides -- I believe what we’re doing here is far greater and more important than two individuals, successful trials or not.” 

That makes Steve’s blood run cold. How long has HYDRA been doing this? How many people have they changed? Is this all his fault? He should have been paying more attention, he should have pushed harder to learn more history, should have asked more about those damned HYDRA weapons on the helicarrier. 

But in the end, it doesn’t matter. “What you’re doing here _stops_ here,” he says, low and quiet. “Two people or two thousand, it’s wrong and it ends now. With _these_ two people, and our team. I know what you think and why you think it. I also know you’re wrong. HYDRA was wrong seventy years ago. They haven’t changed their tune, since.” 

He tightens his grip on Natasha’s legs a little, steps out in front of Bucky, fully into the hall to face down Pierce and all the men and women with weapons pointed at them. 

Bucky tenses a little, but lets Steve step forward so they’re facing HYDRA together, shoulder to shoulder. He casts a glance at Nat, mostly to make sure she’s okay, and she gives him a tiny, tired smile. He nods ever-so-slightly before focusing his attention ahead once more. The odds look insurmountable, but he won’t let himself get overwhelmed by that. 

“You didn’t kill me right away. You wanted to put me away,” Steve says. “That tells me something, and it isn’t that you’re merciful.” 

Pierce smiles, but it’s cold. Thin. He tilts his head a little and several of the STRIKE team start forward toward them. 

The Avengers move as one, Steve’s shield flying through the room and knocking out several of the soldiers even as Bucky begins shooting the others, not even blanching at the return fire. His heart beats steadily in his chest, doesn’t thunder the way he thinks maybe it should, even as adrenaline thrums through his veins.

Steve knows the odds are stacked against them, but honestly -- when are they not? He _can’t_ lose the people here with him today, refuses to consider losing Bucky or Natasha, even Tony or Clint or Bruce, waiting in the jet, hoping he won’t have to be called in. And that means fighting like a demon, never giving up, and he can’t deny that the second the shield leaves his fingers… he feels this strange sense of calm, of confidence, as he feels Bucky tense beside him and start pulling the trigger, as he feels Natasha tightening her hold without obstructing his ability to move. 

The shield knocks into several agents before it ricochets back to Steve, just in time to put it and himself between Bucky and an agent who’s flanked them and opened fire. Steve hears the bullets ring against the metal of the shield, just before he starts to turn -- 

And Natasha throws a knife that ends up lodged in the guy’s chest. Steve watches the body crumple to the ground, and he isn’t even sure where Natasha _got_ the knife -- but it doesn’t matter now. Steve’s already advancing on the next guy, refusing to let them get flanked again, as he spots Pierce retreating back toward the doors, several agents between him and the chaos in the hall, a disappointed look on his face. 

“Stark, Barton!” Steve calls into the comms. “Pierce is headed for the north stairwell. I don’t want to let him out of this building unless it’s in handcuffs.” Or a body bag, but Steve would actually prefer the former. It’s exactly like Bucky had thought earlier -- you can’t be brought to justice if you’re dead. 

“Closing on your location,” Tony says, and another explosion rocks the floor -- well, ceiling, really, because it’s the floor above them. “But we are a little busy up here.” 

In front of them, they’re bottlenecking the stairs. The number of live or moving agents in the hall is starting to dwindle, but Steve has a bad feeling about what happens when there are no agents left, and only the three of them. 

The loud, familiar sound of an air raid siren pierces the air even as most of the remaining STRIKE team seem to follow Pierce toward the stairwell. 

“That can’t be good!” Bucky yells over the noise, firing a shot at a straggling operative as he lifts his gun to fire at them. Neither can the fact that the others are scrambling to get out instead of trying to come after them. He glances at Steve and Natasha, who’s wincing at the noise. Then he starts toward the door.

“No,” Steve agrees, sprinting for the door himself, but there are too many bodies in the hall and he’s got Natasha on his back and Bucky to worry about, and he’s a step or two behind Bucky, but by then, it’s too late. 

They only make it halfway to the door before it’s slammed shut. 

Pierce stands just outside, pointing upward to the ceiling and Bucky glances up, too, following the direction he’s pointing and muttering a curse under his breath as a thick, smoky substance begins pouring out of the vents. Gas. 

Steve’s stomach starts to sink, even as his head starts to pound as the wailing siren goes on and on. The gas won’t affect him -- probably? -- but there’s Bucky and Natasha, and the fact that Pierce has locked them in here. Rumlow’s words come echoing back, and Steve grits his teeth and _hates_ that the man was right. 

He crouches down to set Natasha down on the ground; she seems to get the idea and lets go, leaving him to stand back up, shield in one hand, hefting it as he studies the gas diffusing into the air. “Think if I --” he starts -- and then he’s hit by a wave of dizziness and actually staggers a little. “What the…?” he mumbles, because… if he’s feeling the effects, what the hell is in this stuff? 

When Steve gets his bearings again, he glances at the door, only to see Pierce smiling coldly through it. 

Bucky coughs, eyes stinging and watering as he starts choking on the chemicals. He looks back at Steve, alarm on his face as Bucky moves toward him. He looks over to see that Natasha’s already gotten down on the ground, burying her face in her arms in an attempt to stall for time and keep herself conscious. 

“We need to get on the floor,” Bucky says, coughing again as he sees _two_ Steves in front of him. That can’t be good. 

And the gas is already rapidly sinking toward the floor and Bucky knows even that isn’t going to do much good here for long. Anger shoots through him and looks from Steve back to the door where Pierce is simply watching, looking _amused_. 

He doesn’t even think about what he does next. His arm simply moves. 

Steve hears Bucky -- he does. It sounds like his voice is coming to him underwater, but at least he can make out the words, starts to nod -- 

And then a single shot jars him for just a second, and he realizes Bucky’s raised his gun and fired a shot through the glass window in the door. Steve sees Pierce’s smile -- and then he sees the man’s expression go shocked, and red start to bloom over his shoulder. 

There’s a momentary flicker of satisfaction when Bucky sees Pierce’s blood, hoping that the other Avengers will catch him before he can escape, even if Bucky doesn’t make it out, himself. He coughs, dizziness washing over him and pain flaring in his head -- and then he hits the ground hard, wincing and coughing.

It’s then that Steve’s vision starts to waver, and he goes down onto his knees whether he meant to or not. He can tell there’s something happening on the other side of the door, shouting and scrambling and banging, but Steve’s right under a vent and he’s just… he’s not _used_ to having to worry about gas, has walked straight into rooms filled with smoke and men fumbling for gas masks without flinching for a second, but here and now, the world is swimming and he’s starting to crumple, and it scares him as much as it confuses him. 

He just manages to reach out for Bucky, even if he’s not sure what he’s going to do if his fingers connect. 

Bucky’s vision is blurry, too, as he looks toward Steve and his outstretched hand. He reaches back even as he collapses onto his arms, their fingertips just barely brushing as the world begins to spin. 

And then everything goes dark.


	17. Chapter 17

Steve wakes up slowly, his head pounding and his body feeling heavy. It’s… unusual, honestly, and he has to struggle for a moment to remember where he was and what he was doing -- 

Everything comes back to him in a rush and he sits straight up in bed, which tugs at the wires that feel like they’re trailing off every inch of him, making at least one of the machines that said wires are attached to beep angrily. He blinks in the too-bright light, realizing he’s on the medical floor of the tower. His bed is between two others -- Natasha is laid out in one, sleeping, while Bucky is sitting up in the other, talking to Dr. Cho. Of course, they both startle a little as soon as Steve moves.

Bucky’s eyes are full of concern as he looks over to where Steve’s waking up, finally. He’s only been awake about fifteen minutes now himself, and twice they’ve had to tell him he needs to stay in bed instead of moving over to Steve’s side, saying since Steve was still unconscious, it means he needs his rest. Fine. He can get behind that line of thinking, even with a slightly fuzzy head himself.

But now Steve’s awake and all bets are off. 

Cho turns away from Bucky, placing a hand briefly on his arm as if to excuse the interruption -- and keep him in place a little longer -- before she covers the short distance to Steve’s bed with a wry smile. 

“Welcome back, Captain,” she says, pushing at his hospital gown-covered chest in a not-so-subtle command to lie back down. Steve goes, slowly, eyes still fixed on Bucky as Cho starts fiddling with the wires, reattaching whatever he’d disconnected so the angry sounds stop. “How are you feeling? They had that gas cocktail custom-tailored to your physiology, so I’m guessing the answer isn’t what it might normally be.” 

It’s not. “A little fuzzy,” Steve agrees, but not so fuzzy that he can’t ask, immediately after, “Is Bucky okay?” 

Dr. Cho makes a soft, exasperated sound, and takes one step to the side so Steve can see Bucky sitting in the next bed while she continues checking Steve’s vitals. 

Of course, Bucky doesn’t stay that way for long. He swings his legs off the edge of the bed, bare feet dangling momentarily until he manages to slide off the mattress, grabbing hold of the IV pole that his own equipment is still hooked up to, unable to ignore the urge he has to get closer, to touch Steve and reassure himself he’s still alive. That he’s okay. 

That they both are. 

Dr. Cho sighs again, giving him a look, to which he shrugs a little, moving to the chair that’s by the head of Steve’s bed. “Bucky’s okay,” he confirms. His throat’s a little scratchy. He reaches out for Steve’s hand instinctively. 

“Hey,” Steve says softly, fingers reaching for Bucky’s as soon as he sees Bucky doing the same. It’s not like being separated for a week had been, but everything just feels calmer, more settled, as soon as their skin touches. “That’s good to hear.”

He wants to say that Bucky should probably be back in his own bed, but he also doesn’t want to lose the contact, so he keeps that quiet for now. What he does say is, “God, I really didn’t want Rumlow to be right,” in a tone that’s almost a groan. “Is everyone else all right?” 

Bucky tightens his fingers around Steve’s a little at the mention of Brock. Cho nods, finishing tapping in numbers on her tablet before turning her full attention to them. “They’re fine. You three were the worst off; Stark’s already walked out of here, I only just got Barton to go take a nap on his floor, and Banner never had to get off the jet -- although I hear it was a close thing.” 

Bucky’s glad they’re all right, though his gaze does flicker to Natasha, who hasn’t woken up yet. “And Natasha?” 

“Should wake up in a couple hours. Her metabolism isn’t quite as fast as either of yours.” Cho pauses, pressing her lips together. 

Something in him that Steve had barely realized was tensed starts to relax when he hears that Natasha will wake up in a while, that she’s all right, too. It might be hard to keep his attention off of Bucky, but not impossible, after all. 

But now his attention does turn back to Bucky. “You were pretty amazing.” 

Bucky exhales and then coughs a little, glancing at Steve. “ _We_ were amazing,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb lightly over Steve’s knuckles. He hooks his foot around the leg of the chair and slowly eases himself down into it, not letting go of Steve’s hand. 

When Bucky sits, Steve does his best to shift over to the side of the bed, trying to curl his body a little closer, mostly ignoring Dr. Cho’s sigh. He really couldn’t care less how this looks right now. Not when he’s still trying to get a good look at Bucky, too, and wishing he could touch more than just his hand. 

“I guess we worked pretty well as a team, yeah,” he says, throat a little scratchy, too, but it’s not so bad. 

Bucky leans in a little closer toward the bed when Steve tries to get closer to him. And he’s all too aware of how it looks. He doesn’t care, really. He likes Dr. Cho well enough, but if she has opinions on him and Steve, he’s not necessarily interested in hearing them. He smiles softly at the easy agreement he gets from Steve, though.

“Did you,” Cho says, and it’s not as much of a question as Steve might have thought -- and it’s a bit of an unusual one from her, too, which does actually get his attention enough to glance up at her curiously. She’s looking at the both of them right back, although most of her attention is focused on Bucky. 

Bucky pauses, too, at her comment, glancing up to find her studying him almost intently. It only dawns on him then that she’d wanted to talk to him about some weird results with his blood. He rubs his left hand over his face, then shakes his head. “Sorry, Doc. Kinda forgot you’d wanted to talk to me before all this.” The mission with HYDRA had been his focus. Luring and trapping Brock, then joining the other Avengers for his first actual mission with the team. With Steve. “What’s up?” 

“I did,” Cho confirms, with a smile that’s only a little put upon; she’s mostly polite, and she’s been dealing with Avengers long enough to know their priorities are almost always skewed away from themselves. Barnes seems to be exactly the same -- a perfect match for the team, even if it’s nice to see someone so invested in Captain Rogers, when he normally won’t let anyone fuss over him. Barnes seems to be getting through, though. 

Still, she glances between the two of them. “Do you want to discuss it now?” 

She’s asking, she hopes he realizes, whether he wants it discussed in front of Captain Rogers, because that’s what he’s implying, but she’d rather have a solid yes or no. 

Bucky ignores the way his stomach does a tiny, nervous flip flop, wondering if this is going to be something bad after all. It doesn’t matter, though, in the long run. He won’t keep something like that from Steve. From his _mate._ He squeezes his hand a little more, almost unconsciously and nods. 

“Yeah. Now’s fine,” he agrees, wanting to get it over with if it _is_ something bad. Or even if it’s not. He thinks he might have some time to process news now that they’ve solidly attacked HYDRA and Steve’s exposed them to the rest of the world. “I’m not keeping any secrets from him,” he tells her honestly. 

Cho gives the two of them one more glance, but then she nods, even as Steve is giving Bucky’s hand a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t know if this is good or bad either, but whatever it is, if Bucky wants him here for it, then he’s here. 

“Well, if either of you were inclined to wonder why the two of you are awake already and Agent Romanoff isn’t…” she starts, and lets that sink in for just a moment, lets them maybe start to think about it, “The anomalies I found in your blood _aren’t_ anomalous when you compare them to what I might expect from someone who’s been given a serum not totally dissimilar from Captain Rogers,” she explains to Bucky.

 _That_ makes Steve frown, albeit more in confusion than anything. “But --” 

Cho holds up a hand. “No one’s successfully copied it, that much is true. But this isn’t an exact copy. It’s similar, yes, like I said. Not exactly the same, but all of Sergeant Barnes’ baseline stats seem enhanced compared with what I’d expect.” 

Bucky’s silent for a moment, trying to absorb and make sense of that. “So… whatever they gave me during my captivity switched my designation and… enhanced my metabolism?” he asks slowly. He supposes that makes a little sense, considering he’d woken up a bit before Steve, and how Natasha, whom he assumes is a normal human, is still unconscious. 

He glances back at Steve, eyebrows furrowing momentarily, thinking back over the huge meals they’d had when they’d returned to New York, and how much food he’d been able to polish off in one sitting, when he’d never come close to that before. 

Steve takes a second to absorb that, too -- and maybe he’s thinking back to all of the meals Bucky’s eaten in the past few days without his suppressants, too. And how easily he’d kept up with Steve for those four or five days, and maybe that all hasn’t been sheer luck. 

Still. It feels to Bucky like there’s more here, and he’s not sure what it is. “I feel like I’m still missing something you’re trying to tell me,” he admits, looking back at Dr. Cho. 

Cho is nodding. “It’s hard to tell after the fact whether it was one thing they gave you or two, although given Captain Rogers’ designation change, I’m leaning toward one. If it’s simply a side effect of a serum that enhances human physiology… well, I can’t say it wouldn’t fit with the data we have.” 

Her smile is kind, understanding. “There are a lot of files to go through. But I think you were a test subject for more than just the designation switch. Trying to recreate the serum is something I can imagine HYDRA has wanted to do since before Captain Rogers went into the ice. It seems to me, they got pretty close. I can give you a copy of your file, let you see everything I’ve found. I’d still like to do some physical tests, but not until you’ve recovered fully and gotten some real rest.” 

Bucky blinks a few times, pretty sure that if he really pushed himself, he’d be able to recall a whole lot of unpleasant details about his time with HYDRA. He’d just really rather not. It might be useful, at some point, to dredge through all of it, but today isn’t the day for that. He’s still a little tired. Maybe too tired to process what she’s saying. 

“Okay,” he agrees after a moment, because he thinks actually seeing his file and reading over it, maybe even comparing his own test results with Steve’s -- if that’s allowed -- might help him make sense of all of it. “Yeah, just… gimme a day or two and uh, I’ll do the tests.” Even if the very thought of undergoing _any_ medical testing right now still gives him a stab of anxiety. He manages a small smile, then looks back to Steve, uncertain. 

“A week, at least,” Dr. Cho counters, finally stepping out from behind Steve’s bed. She looks between the two of them for a moment, and then starts pulling monitors off of Steve -- at least, a few of them, leaving the IV in his arm and the clip on his finger. “I’d prefer you share the bed to you staying in the chair,” she says to Bucky. “With the caveat that if one of you starts experiencing _anything_ , you call me.” 

She gives them both a serious look, then starts pulling the curtain around the bed. “If you’re up for visitors, I’m sure you’ll have one or two soon.” 

And then she gets out of their way, and Steve and Bucky are left alone in the relative privacy of the curtained-off half of the room, and Bucky’s looking at Steve and Steve isn’t sure how he feels, knowing all of this, but if it’s anything, it’s concern and love. So he starts by reaching down to lift the blanket a little, scooting himself back to the other side of the bed. “Doctor’s orders?” 

Bucky’s lips quirk up into a small smile when Steve lifts the blankets up for him to crawl beneath. He exhales, nodding immediately. Frankly it had really just been a matter of time before he ended up on the bed with Steve anyway, doctor’s orders or not. He’s also fairly sure that Dr. Cho already knew that, though. He rises to his feet, then sinks down onto the mattress of Steve’s bed, crawling in beside him. 

He doesn’t doubt they’ll have visitors soon, but right now he just wants to be curled up with his alpha, who is safe and alive and okay, thank God. He doesn’t even want to consider the other possibilities. He shifts as close as he can get, pressing his face against Steve’s neck and inhaling slowly, the familiar scent of his skin more comforting than any reassurances that a doctor could offer him. He rests his left hand on Steve’s hip, letting his eyes close. “Much better.” 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, as soon as Bucky’s warm weight settles into the bed next to him under the covers. He loops an arm around Bucky in return, pulling him close (as though there’s any _closer_ he can pull him) and putting his nose into the hair at the top of Bucky’s head for a minute, before he finally manages to say, “So I guess it makes sense. Why we work so well together. I mean -- we can keep up with each other. I… feel both really glad and really guilty at the same time, is that weird?” 

Bucky’s nose brushes against his neck before he places a soft kiss against his skin. But at the admission that Steve feels glad _and_ guilty, he frowns a little. “Why guilty?” he asks quietly, pulling back just a bit so he can peek up at Steve’s face. He moves his hand to rest over Steve’s heart. 

“I guess… because they were trying to make another _me_ ,” Steve says, watching Bucky and knowing it isn’t rational, but he can’t stop feeling the guilt anyway. “And I volunteered, they told me what would happen… and I guess maybe I figured if it ever happened, if they ever made more, those would be volunteers, too. But you weren’t.” 

“Yeah. I had a feeling that’s what you meant,” Bucky tells him, giving him a look. He shakes his head. “Steve.” He lifts his hand to his face, cupping his cheek in his palm. “The serum was already invented when Erskine found you, right?” He raises his eyebrows. “ _Someone_ was going to get it. If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been someone else. And maybe that someone else would have been a bad guy.” He presses his lips together. “You have no responsibility here.” 

Steve huffs quietly. “Yeah, but -- it’s _you_ ,” he says -- and then realizes that’s probably not clear. Then he realizes he’s not sure he _can_ say what he’s feeling clearly, and shakes his head a little. “I don’t know. It just feels more personal. Like… either fate’s laughing at us. Or playing matchmaker.” 

He laughs a little, but it still comes back to the fact that he _doesn’t_ like the idea of anyone -- or anything -- having control over his life. “It’s just weird, I guess. I know it doesn’t make sense. I mean -- I’m glad, in a way. We can figure it out together. I’m happy to share my test results or whatever Dr. Cho needs. And I’m _glad_ you’re okay, and I’m not complaining that we work well together. I just… wish it had been a choice. For you. Maybe that’s all.” 

Bucky gazes at him intently, trying to understand what Steve’s trying to say, but he gets it when Steve says he wishes it had been Bucky’s choice. He brushes his thumb gently over Steve’s cheek, resting his head on the pillow so they can be more comfortable but still see each other. Steve shifts when Bucky does, trying to make it easier for both of them to lie side by side on the bed and look at each other. 

“Maybe fate’s laughing at us,” Bucky agrees. “And maybe I didn’t choose to undergo what you did, but it happened anyway.” 

He draws in a breath. “But… at the end of the day, if that’s what it took to bring me here. Bring me to you. Then it’s worth it to me.” He reaches up, strokes some hair back out of Steve’s face. “Because I love you. And I choose you, Steve. And I’m gonna keep choosing you every day for the rest of my life.” 

Steve just laughs softly, curling closer because, “Well. I mean, what can I say to that?” 

There isn’t much, really. He knows he might always feel a little responsible. But the thing is, Bucky’s right -- it happened, they can’t undo it, and they’re here now, together, and maybe there might have been no other way to get to this point. He can wish there would have been, but they’ll never know. “God, I love you,” he breathes, fingers brushing over Bucky’s side, wishing they could get closer but knowing it’s not smart or polite in a hospital bed that’s definitely not really private. “And I hope you choose me. I kinda might’ve bitten you, just in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

He grins a little, sloppily, and leans in to press his lips to Bucky’s forehead. “Which means I choose you, too.” Just in case that wasn’t abundantly clear. 

“Huh. Did you?” Bucky teases, enjoying the feel of Steve’s lips on his skin, no matter how light and chaste. “I’m relieved that’s what it means. Woulda made my whole speech there a little awkward otherwise.” He smiles, closing his eyes again and feeling the warmth from Steve’s skin radiating out against his own, letting the sensation wrap him up in a cocoon of safety. Comfort. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt this very tender moment, but did I hear that correctly?” Tony asks. “I know when I shipped you off to Malibu I said enjoying the bonding experience but I definitely didn’t mean it _literally._ ” 

Steve very, very deliberately doesn’t startle, possibly by sheer force of will. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder and yep, there’s Tony Stark, one hand in the curtain, staring at them with wide eyes. Steve takes a breath -- and then lets it go, slowly, quietly, brushing fingertips over Bucky’s side again before he twists to sit up properly in the bed again, because he’s not going to have this conversation lying curled up on his side, much though he doesn’t want to move. 

The motion definitely exposes the side of Steve’s throat where Bucky’s bitemark is easily visible above the low, scooped hospital gown collar. Tony’s eyes get wider, but Steve cuts him off with a, “Yeah, it’s probably not what you meant, but we cleaned up after ourselves. Really well. Promise.” 

It’s not the most polite thing to say to a guy who loaned them his _mansion_ for a week. But it’s kind of what comes out, and he thinks Tony might actually appreciate it more than whatever polite thing Steve could’ve said.

Tony lets out a harsh bark of laughter at the unexpected response, grin stretching across his face. There’s practically glee in his eyes. “Color me impressed, Cap. Didn’t know you had that kind of snark in you.” His gaze zeroes in on the bite mark on Steve’s skin, and he raises his eyebrows a little but doesn’t comment just yet.

Bucky sits up beside Steve, right arm wrapped around his back, hand resting against his hip. “He’s actually very good with the snark.” His lips twitch upwards. “And a lot of other things.” 

Steve can’t help the pleased look that crosses his face. “Well, thanks, sweetheart,” he says -- and he only says it because he knows it’ll get under Tony’s skin, too; and feels vindicated when he sees the guy roll his eyes. 

Bucky’s answering smile to being called “sweetheart” in front of Tony is practically radiant. He leans into him just a little, and not just to try and needle at Tony more. He watches the way Tony’s gaze focuses on Steve’s neck, studying the bite mark and realizes he’s actually not concerned with his reaction to their level of unconventional. And the public -- well. They’d deal with crossing that bridge when it’s time. 

“Also color me as having more than enough information about what he’s good at,” Tony says, eyes still on Steve’s neck. “Which apparently includes being unconventional. I am not surprised,” he adds, “but as we all know, I am not on par with the average member of the public.” 

But that’s going to be Steve and Bucky’s problem, and not Tony’s. 

“Thanks for the assist,” Steve ends up saying, figuring he might as well get that part of the conversation out of the way, since it is actually important. Bucky nods. “What can you tell us about how things went down? Cho didn’t exactly give us a mission report.” 

Tony waves one hand a little and starts listing things off: “The Triskelion is pretty much wasted, _former_ Secretary of Defense Pierce is in custody, thanks to a lucky shot from Buck-o, here.” Tony nods his head toward Bucky. 

Bucky exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding when he says Pierce is in custody. He’ll have to testify against him, he’s pretty sure of that. But it’s okay. Another worry to deal with later. 

Steve leans closer to Bucky at the mention of Pierce’s name; he can imagine, too, that Bucky might be called to testify, but that’s a situation they’ll just have to deal with when it happens. And Steve will be there however Bucky needs him to be, when it does. 

“Plenty of other good little HYDRA agents in custody, too, and plenty of inquiries going on at every level of the American government, so the situation with all of that is pending,” Ton goes on. “But they might find it useful that I hacked into HYDRA’s servers and basically spilled their guts all over the internet.” Tony smiles, and it’s almost predatory. “That part was easy.”

“And the public? How are they dealing with the fallout of all this?” Bucky asks curiously, wishing he had his laptop handy so he could check in with ORC and see what kind of stir this has all caused. 

“Oh, they’re having a field day. The usual -- some people are saying ‘I told you so,’ there are about twenty new conspiracy theory sites that popped up overnight, Omega Rights activists are holding rallies left and right -- still using you as a battle cry, Cap, and don’t think you aren’t probably next, Barnes -- and you should’ve seen the mad scramble among the press to be the first to publish the expose. _The New York Times_ won, by the way.” 

Steve huffs out something that’s part sigh, part laugh. “I don’t mind being a battle cry for the right cause,” he says, softly. “But I do want to make sure the facts keep getting out. We should schedule another press conference -- for the team.” He glances at Bucky. “Make sure everyone knows what went down, who’s in custody, and why.” 

“Probably a good idea.” Natasha’s voice is quiet even as Bucky glances over to see her sitting up in the bed, looking a bit sleepy, but awake. Relief washes over him at the sight. He smiles over at her. 

“Welcome back,” Bucky greets, leaning more into Steve. And Steve relaxes even further against Bucky as he hears Natasha’s voice; he’d trusted Dr. Cho that she would be all right, but there’s definitely nothing like seeing someone you care about actually awake and moving and all right. 

“Thank you. Sounds like I missed all the action.” She yawns, wiping the sleep from her eyes and looking over at the two of them, and then at Tony briefly. “What exactly _did_ go down?” 

Bucky grimaces a little and then starts filling her in on some of what she missed. Steve just lets him explain, because he’s got this, just enjoying the fact that everyone in this room is important to him, and everyone in this room is all right. He’ll have to check on Banner and Barton, too, when he can get up out of bed again -- which he thinks is going to be soon, probably. He’s feeling a lot better; that gas may have been tailored to take him out, but at least he seems to be clearing it pretty quickly after the fact. 

“I also missed the first press conference so maybe we can watch it together later,” Bucky finishes with a small smile, glancing over at Tony with raised eyebrows. 

“Cap did a decent job,” he informs them. “The camera loves him.” He smirks. 

“I was just trying to get the truth to the people who wield it best,” Steve says, eyeing Tony. “Not all of us want to turn every press conference into a spectacle.” He’s sure Tony can figure out now why Steve had worn the high-necked uniform (of course, it had been a good choice anyway) and why he’d kept as much of Bucky’s information quiet as possible. But that time is probably past now. “And that’s what I want to keep doing. The more people who know the truth, the better. Whether it’s about HYDRA, or about me.” 

“Spectacles can be a great diversion technique,” Tony responds with amusement at the jab. “Something to keep in mind. You’ll probably need it in the coming weeks. I foresee a _lot_ of press coverage starring Captain America.” He pauses. “And, of course, our newest Avenger.” 

Bucky grimaces a little at that, but presses his lips together. He knows that just goes along with being on this team, and he’s already accepted that. He’s not excited about it, but he’ll deal. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through Spectacle-Making 101. Maybe you’ll even be good enough to advance to 102. Time will tell.” Tony smirks. “Anyway, glad you’re all recovering. I’m going to get back to work. I’ll be around.” He lifts his hand in a wave and heads away. 

Bucky watches him go, blinking a few times. “He’s a bit like a hurricane, isn’t he?” he remarks. 

“Yeah,” Steve admits, glancing over at Natasha in her bed; she’s wearing an expression that says she agrees. “But he’s also not wrong -- you and I are probably going to be at the center of most of that press coverage, and I genuinely don’t know what the actual government is going to want to do about the fact that I used to be an omega.” 

But the look Steve gives Bucky says that if they try to imprison him again… they’ll run, just like Bucky offered. To Canada, or further. 

“Information can be a weapon,” Natasha says quietly, studying the two of them. “It can be in your control, or out of it. I think you two probably prefer things when it’s the former.” 

Steve’s lips tick up into a half-smile. “So we should set the record straight about everything sooner rather than later, is what you’re saying.” 

Natasha simply shrugs, leaning back against her pillow a little. “It’s one way to handle things,” she concedes. 

Of course, Steve knows that Bucky is going to be bearing the brunt of whatever happens, and he glances to the man in the bed with him, because whatever Bucky wants, however he wants to handle it, Steve will follow his lead. 

“Yeah, I kinda thought we might be,” Bucky admits. He might not have his bearings as far as how all the press coverage works from a behind-the-scenes Avengers standpoint, but he’s a smart guy. “But maybe with everything that’s happened, they’ll be less concerned about what your designation was in the forties and more concerned with cleaning up the monumental mess that they have to figure out how to clean up.” And he’s pretty sure _that’s_ going to take a ton of time to handle. 

If that’s how it works, Bucky won’t even feel the slightest bit guilty. HYDRA had managed to slip into the cracks of an already messed-up system that had been in place and wreaked plenty of havoc. But maybe, ultimately, some things had to be utterly burnt to the ground in order for new, better things to rise up in their wake. 

“We’ll do whatever we need to,” he tells Steve honestly. Because, no, he’s not excited about being in front of the cameras or being talked about across the United States -- and even the rest of the world -- but it is what it is. “Whatever everyone thinks is for the best.” 

Steve nods, blowing out a slow breath and leaning back a little against the pillows, tugging Bucky gently with him. “I guess we’ll see,” he says. “I’d rather not hide, but we don’t have to explain everything right away. Maybe wait a few more days, let the world deal with HYDRA before they deal with our personal lives. I’m willing to come out and say who you are and establish you solidly on the team first, and then get into the rest of it later.” 

He glances at Natasha, wanting to see what she thinks of that plan. She doesn’t look like she disapproves, and the small nod she gives clinches it. 

***

Bucky’s already in the process of undoing his tie as they step into Steve’s apartment a few days later after the latest press conference. There’ve been a handful of them this week, most of which he’s been on the front lines of beside Steve, and he’s honestly not sure how he does this regularly. He feels drained, even if overall they’ve gone _well_. Really well. 

As if a wish had been granted, the United States government had decided a couple days ago that, since there are no laws outlining how to handle someone’s designation of birth being altered, there would be no charges brought against Steve. 

Overall, the public has been supportive of that decision, though there are always a few groups of naysayers. He doesn’t think either of them care that much about those groups, even if they’ve been taking precautions when they’re out in public, just in case any of those people decide to act foolishly. Not that they’ve left the tower much so far -- just a couple of times to grab dinner. Already the press has begun speculating about their relationship because of some random snapshots people had taken on their phones of the two of them when they’ve been out together. He’s fine with letting them speculate for now, even if he thinks it won’t be much longer before they have to make some kind of statement about that. 

“I think it went really well,” he remarks, glancing sideways at Steve as he drops onto the sofa, tie in his hand. 

“I think you look really good,” Steve says; then blinks, catches himself, and drops down onto the couch next to Bucky with a lopsided smile. 

Bucky’s lips quirk upwards at the compliment and he rolls his head to look at Steve. “Yeah, well. Likewise.” 

“And I think you’re right,” Steve adds. “It’s been a long week, though.” 

Long, but ultimately successful. Not that he’d had anything to do with the decision to not charge him, but at least they don’t have to smuggle themselves out of the country. Which is good, although it’s still been a bit hard to try to stay under the radar every time they go out. “I still don’t like having to tell everyone about everything in my life, just so they won’t find out some other way,” Steve murmurs, reaching up to tug at his own tie. “Or yours. But this could’ve definitely gone down differently, so I’m glad it didn’t. You doing all right?” 

Bucky shifts so his body’s angled more toward Steve, and he reaches out and lays a hand over his chest. “I’m fine,” he assures him. “A little worn out, maybe. Mentally.” Physically, he feels fine. More than fine. Once he’d recovered from the gas inhalation a few days before, he bounced back with more energy than usual -- and apparently, that wasn’t a surprise to Dr. Cho. 

“How about you?” he asks sincerely, studying Steve. Bucky knows how much he hates to have his life on display the way it has been so prominently, for the last week in particular. It seems like every single headline has to do with HYDRA, Captain America, the Avengers, or how it all ties in with Omega Rights. The country’s been more deeply divided than ever, though a slightly larger percent of the population seems to come down on the side of Omegas deserving more basic human rights. He’s not sure what’ll happen next, but he hopes to play some kind of role there. 

“You’ve had a long week.”

“So have you,” Steve murmurs, giving Bucky a small smile and reaching up to touch the hand on his chest with one of his. “You said it best, though -- worn out. Mentally. I feel fine, though. I actually talked to Dr. Cho, last time you were running a test for her. She’s gonna look into suppressants for me. I trust her.” 

They don’t have the effect on Steve that they do on Bucky, so he’s wanted to get back on them sooner rather than later. Part of him wants to ask Bucky whether he might trust Dr. Cho enough to ask her whether she could make something for him, but that’s Bucky’s decision. Steve doesn’t want to make it for him. 

“That’s good,” Bucky says quietly, thoughtful. 

“Mostly I just want a break from having to figure out what to tell people about us, and how,” Steve adds, squeezing Bucky’s hand before letting go to actually get his own tie off. 

Bucky reaches up and stills Steve’s hand when he starts to undo his tie. “Let me,” he says softly, shifting closer and reaching his other hand up to undo the knot. A week ago, he wouldn’t have been able to do this, but the metal arm that Tony made to cover his real one allowed him to do more intricate work like tying and untying ties. 

Bucky’s taken to wearing the metal sleeve most of the time, and Steve certainly can’t fault him for it. He grins, softly, and drops his hands away, letting Bucky unto and pull off his tie. “Well, I vote to table that for tonight, and get dinner, and talk about something else.” 

“I can definitely get behind that,” Bucky says, smiling at him. “I vote that we order in and then lock the door and turn off our phones for the rest of the night. And maybe the TV, too.” Less chance of catching any news segments about them. 

“I think that sounds like a really good idea.” JARVIS will tell them if anything absolutely urgent comes up, but in the meantime… 

Steve digs around in his pocket and pulls out his phone, switching it off and tossing it onto the coffee table with a satisfied grin. “You can pick what we eat,” he says, maybe not in the least because Bucky’s still been eating more than he used to, and he looks healthier, happier, and Steve might want to encourage that a little. He knows it might change again, if Bucky goes back on the illegal suppressants, but he hopes maybe not. Or, at the very least, he hopes they can get Bucky to a point where a little lost weight won’t matter too much. Steve can’t imagine Bucky was hale and hearty after his ordeal with HYDRA the first time around, before he started taking suppressants in the first place. 

“Hmm.” Bucky sets Steve’s tie to the side, along with his own, before he exhales and then leans in so that his head is resting over the other man’s heart. He lets his eyes close. “Maybe Thai?” he suggests. They’d gone for sushi a couple nights before, and last night it had been Indian food, and honestly, he’s not sure he’s ever enjoyed food as much as he has been for the last few days. His own mind lingers briefly on the unpleasant thought of going back on suppressants. It’s a necessary evil, but he’s not excited about it by any means. 

“Thai sounds perfect,” Steve hums, sliding a hand up Bucky’s back. “My favorite place is in Brooklyn, but there are a couple of good ones around here, too.” It’s been an adventure, finding the most interesting food they can eat around here, simply because they _can_. Just because Steve eats a lot doesn’t mean he’d really gone out of his way to find things to try, when he’d first woken up. It hadn’t seemed important. Now, it feels like a mission -- the best kind. 

“Brooklyn has the best restaurants, in general,” Bucky responds automatically. But he might be a little biased. He knows that Steve gets it, though. They’re Brooklyn boys, through and through. He’s enjoyed trying a lot of the Manhattan places he’d never been to before, though -- mostly because he knows Steve hasn’t been to many either, and experiencing something new together is something that gives him a little thrill. 

“And maybe we could draw up some plans for the bookstore. If you want to consider reopening,” Steve says a moment later, softly, in a tone that says he’s willing to be shut down. 

Bucky smiles, though, when Steve brings up the bookstore possibility. He thinks of Wanda, and how happy she’d been to see them when they’d met her for pizza earlier in the week. She’d asked, of course, and he’d assured her he was looking into it. The insurance is still being held up, but the money’s expected to come through. With what he’s making now on the team, and with what he’s still got in savings, he thinks it’s a real possibility. 

“I do,” he admits. “I really do.” He lifts his head up to look at Steve again. “That was an offer to do the blueprints, right?” Bucky grins at him. 

“Yeah. It absolutely was. I took a drafting class or two, in my day.” Not that these are going to be official, but Steve can do enough to get any of their ideas down onto paper, no problem. 

Bucky smiles at the agreement. “There’s no one else I’d want to do it,” he admits quietly.

It’s decided, then. But first: “JARVIS --” Steve starts, and JARVIS interrupts gently with, “The menu is now on Sergeant Barnes’ phone.” 

Steve laughs a little, leaning back into the couch and tugging Bucky with him. “You decide what you want. I’ll eat anything.” 

Bucky chuckles as Steve pulls him along, dipping his head to kiss Steve softly, then pulling back as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. “I’m almost to that point myself,” he jokes. He glances at his phone, pausing at the screen. “My mom tried to call.” 

Steve’s just about to slide his hand up and pull Bucky down for another kiss, ordering food be damned, when the other pauses and -- “Oh.” Steve frowns a little, mostly in thought, before he hazards, “Should you call her back?” 

He knows Bucky’s mom tried to contact him before all of this, too, and he’d put off getting back to her because they hadn’t known how things would fall out. Now, though… “It’s all right if you want to do it,” he says. “I don’t have to be here when you do.” He hopes Bucky hears the other half of that, too -- _It’s all right if you don’t want to do it right now._.

Bucky is silent for a moment. “Maybe I should. Twice in a week she’s tried to contact me. Maybe something’s wrong.” He honestly can’t imagine any other reason she’d be trying to get in touch with him. He chews his lower lip. “Let’s order food first and uh -- then I’ll call and make sure she’s okay.” 

He pulls up the menu to the nearest Thai restaurant that JARVIS sent him, thumbing through it and ordering a bunch of different things for the two of them to share. He glances up to meet Steve’s eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’m gonna call her back. I’m sure it won’t be a long call,” he jokes, pressing the button for his mom’s number and swallowing hard. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees, softly, sliding his hand back down Bucky’s back, just resting it there lightly at the base of his spine while he hears the phone ring on the other end of the line. He can maybe hope that Bucky’s mom wants to make amends, or at least wants to check up on him, but he genuinely doesn’t know enough about her or the situation, past what Bucky’s told him, to even know whether that’s a reasonable hope to have. 

All he does know is that he’s going to be here for Bucky either way, and he’s got Becca’s number in his phone. If he has to call her in on this, he absolutely will. 

Bucky holds his breath as the line begins ringing and he’s grateful for the steadying hand against his back. Steve may have offered to leave the room, but honestly, that’s the last thing he wants. He feels like his nerves would be even more fried than they already are. He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, waiting, and wondering if she’ll even pick up. 

And he gets his answer a moment later. “Bucky?” Her voice sounds uncertain. 

His breathing hitches in his throat. “Yeah. Hey, Mom.” He’s silent for a few seconds. “I saw you tried to call earlier.” And that she’d texted him a few days ago, but he’s not going to mention that. If she’s paid any attention to the news at all, then she knows why he hasn’t called until now. 

There’s a long moment of silence, and for a second he thinks she hung up on him. “How are you?” 

Bucky pauses at that, glancing over his shoulder at Steve, and then resting his hand on Steve’s knee. “It’s been a crazy week,” he tells her. “But I’m fine.” And for the first time in a long time, he feels like that’s the truth. He’s fine. Better than fine, really. “How are you? Everything okay?” 

“I’m -- I’m fine, too. Your sister told me. About the bookstore. And then, well -- I’ve been watching the news…” 

“Right,” Bucky says, nodding even though she can’t see him. He watches Alpine jump up onto the coffee table across from him and smiles faintly as she meows. “Yeah, I guess that was… probably a shock, huh?” 

Steve just tries to be as comforting a presence as he can manage, while also being glad that he can kind of listen in on the conversation without really trying. Most of the time, he can hear cellphone conversations and he feels bad about it, but not this time. If Bucky doesn’t want him to hear, then Steve trusts he’ll get up, or as Steve to. 

The first few lines have been stilted, yes -- but at least Bucky’s mother seems genuine enough. “It was,” she agrees, sounding to Steve like she wants to know more but she doesn’t want to ask. “But you had insurance?” She sounds unsure -- although Steve isn’t sure whether she wasn’t sure there was insurance, or she isn’t sure whether Bucky needs it, given everything that’s been happening on the news. 

Bucky leans back a little, into the solid warmth of Steve’s body, so, so grateful for his presence. His right hand trembles a bit, but he keeps a grip on the phone. “Yeah. It’s still getting sorted out, but it sounds like it’ll come through eventually. Might take a while, though.” Alpine jumps onto his lap, purring and nuzzling up against his chest. He pets her absently with the metal hand, which she still finds fascinating, sniffing at it every chance she gets. 

“I was actually just talking with --” He pauses, and glances at Steve, “my boyfriend. About rebuilding.” He gives Steve a small smile. 

Steve really can’t help the way he feels, every time Bucky calls him his _boyfriend_. It’s not like it’s all that new, anymore, but it actually isn’t all that old, either, given how fast everything seems like it’s happened. He grins back at Bucky, reaching around with one hand to pet Alpine, too, but mostly just stays put while, on the other end of the line, Bucky’s mother is silent for another moment. 

“Are you going to have time to run a bookstore?” Bucky’s mom sounds skeptical now, but it’s a little hard to tell whether she’s genuinely curious or trying to be demeaning. Steve hopes it’s the former, given that “Avenger” isn’t a common job description. But it does come with, fortunately, some pretty big swaths of downtime. “Don’t they pay you for… you know?” 

Steve can’t help but roll his eyes a little at that, but he gets that it’s new and that Bucky’s mother is finding out secondhand. Of course, that’s her own fault, so he can’t feel too sorry for her, but he is glad she’s at least reaching out now. 

Bucky watches Alpine lean into the petting that Steve’s doling out and smiles a bit more, relaxing. He hears that skepticism loud and clear, and he knows it’s multi-faceted, and sure enough she brings up her reasons for being skeptical a few seconds later. 

“Not that I’m sure you need to be working at all,” Bucky’s mom says, and _that_ maybe hits at something in Steve, because he’d heard it plenty, too -- good omegas didn’t need to work, because they’d have an alpha to take care of them. “But you insisted before, I know.” 

Bucky presses his lips together, reaching down and untying his shoes absently, slipping them off. 

“Yeah, they pay me. But I’ll have plenty of downtime. You know I always loved Book Barnes.” He decides that he’s not going to respond to the other part at all. There’s no reason to and as far as he’s concerned, it’s not her place to ask at this point. “Gotta keep up Gramps’ legacy.” His voice is light but firm at the same time, leaving little doubt that he’s not planning to respond to the implications of her question.

That gets a soft sigh, but no argument, at least. “That’s what you said,” she says instead.

Bucky relaxes a little when she doesn’t argue. Then again, she’s never been the more vocal of his parents when it comes to anything to do with Omegas and having rights of their own. His dad must not be around at the moment. 

“Well, I wanted to know if you were all right. Those press conferences can be so impersonal.” 

Steve manages to keep his scoff in at that -- they don’t _feel_ impersonal, but he can see how it would, for a family member. But to him, that just means the family member should care enough to check in regularly. 

But Bucky’s mom is trying. It’s something. 

“I’m all right,” Bucky says, voice growing quieter, a little more sincere because he picks up on the underlying worry there. “I think things may calm down a bit now, actually.” At least in terms of being in immediate, life-threatening danger. 

He also knows that can change at a moment’s notice. 

“Have you been doing okay?” he asks carefully. 

“Yes, we’re fine,” his mother responds, which isn’t a detailed answer, but it’s probably better than the alternative either way, Steve figures. “Your father has a good group of friends, they go out after work a lot.” 

Bucky grimaces at the mention of his dad’s friends. He can only assume they're probably one of the groups that would like to see Steve locked up. Probably wouldn’t mind seeing Bucky locked up, for that matter, except that might bring more attention to the fact that Bucky’s his son and wouldn’t that be shameful? 

Steve is thinking the same thing, considering the kind of person Bucky’s father is, but he also notices that Bucky’s mother doesn’t go on to say anything about her own friends. It definitely reminds him of the dynamics he grew up with -- and has since found out are more than a little outdated. Not to everyone, he supposes. “We were able to afford a much bigger house, too, so I’m keeping busy.” 

It still all sounds stilted, just as impersonal as those press conferences, but Steve has to remind himself that this is still something. It’s still progress. 

“Keeping busy is always good,” Bucky says, feeling awkward and weary. 

“I guess you are, too, even if it’s different than what we’d imagined for you,” his mom finishes, and Steve wonders whether that refers to before or after Bucky had his designation changed against his will. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

“Yeah. It’s definitely been busy here.” Bucky presses his lips together, glancing at Steve over his shoulder. Part of him wants to tell her that Steve is his mate, that even more than that, she and Becca had been right all those years ago with their teasing him about the mark on his neck being a soulmate mark. And that he’d _found_ his soulmate and that he’s happier than he could’ve imagined. 

Maybe someday. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.” 

“I’m glad you are, too.” That, at least, sounds genuine, if still a little stilted. Steve runs a hand up and down Bucky’s back, fingers resting at the base of his neck, just as Bucky’s mother says, “Maybe… I’ll call you again in a few weeks? To see how things are coming with the store.” 

Bucky holds his breath for a moment, leaning back into Steve’s touch and trying not to get his hopes up too high that she’ll follow through with that. “Yeah. That’d be good. I should know more about that in a few weeks,” he agrees quietly, feeling his chest grow tight. “It was -- good to hear your voice.” 

“Okay. Good,” his mother says, and silence lapses for a moment before Steve can hear a soft sigh, and, “You, too.” 

But that’s about all she seems able to bring herself to say, because the call disconnects a few seconds later, without any other niceties or well wishes. Steve can feel his expression softening, even as his fingers brush against the skin above the collar of Bucky’s nice shirt. He glances at Bucky for a moment, not sure whether he should say something, because whatever he says might turn out to be the wrong thing, and he doesn’t want that. 

Bucky sits motionless for a long moment, listening to the silence on the other end of the line until it goes dead and he slowly sets the phone down on the coffee table. Wordlessly he shifts and leans back into Steve’s arms, turning his face and resting his head on his chest once more. Alpine crawls up onto his shoulder. “Glad we’re ordering in,” he jokes quietly. He definitely doesn’t feel like leaving the apartment now. 

Steve just hums, adjusting his arms so they can both come up and around Bucky in a loose embrace. “Hey,” he says, softly, shifting a little more so he can lie back again against the arm of the couch, tugging Bucky with him. And then, “Me, too,” because even if he hadn’t really had to go through all that, personally, he can definitely see the toll it’s taken on Bucky. 

Bucky exhales as Steve pulls him down to lay atop him. “I’m glad you did it, though,” Steve finally says. As weird and painful and awkward as it had sounded, it’s better now that it’s done, he thinks. Although he still thinks he’s going to text Becca later, maybe prompt her to give Bucky a call, too. He has a feeling Becca will be able to commiserate -- and cheer Bucky up -- in a way that Steve just can’t. And that’s fine. Bucky needs more than just him. 

Bucky nods against him, silent for a moment, considering his words. “I guess if she calls, it means she still kinda cares, right?” His voice is hushed, uncertain. He wants to believe that’s what it had been about, that she’d been worried and not just curious and confused about the things she’s seeing on the news. 

“I think it does,” Steve admits, sliding one arm from around Bucky so he can scratch at Alpine’s scruff as she stretches out on Bucky’s back, yawning and then curling into a ball atop him. He knows that he doesn’t know the situation from the inside, but it is still the truth. It’s not just him agreeing for the sake of agreeing. “Especially because she called more than once.” Even if the conversation was weird and stilted, she had still been willing to have it. He wants to believe that means something good. 

“And I maybe liked it when you called me your boyfriend,” he adds.

Bucky grins involuntarily at that. “Well, that was my favorite part of the conversation.” He’s honestly a bit disappointed that his mom hadn’t asked any questions about Steve. Not even his name, or if he was kind or even what his designation is. He presses a kiss against Steve’s collarbone, letting his lips linger there momentarily. 

Steve lets out a soft laugh, not wanting to dislodge Bucky’s lips “I mean, I can’t complain if you like talking about me. I want to talk about you all the time.” He just doesn’t have a mother to brag about Bucky to, and his teammates can all get to know Bucky for himself, and not just based on Steve’s word. “Maybe I should call Becca and gossip more often.” 

Bucky lets out a bark of laughter. “She’d definitely enjoy that.” He lifts his head up to look down at Steve, some of the tension melting away as he gazes at him. “I like talking _to_ you, too. And looking at you. And having dinner with you…” He presses a kiss to his jaw. “Kissing you…” The list is really kind of endless when it comes to Steve. 

“Those all sound like good things,” Steve hums, sliding his hand away from Alpine for a moment so he can card his fingers through Bucky’s hair, instead, smiling softly. “We should do all of those.” Which, of course, is pretty much the plan for the evening. 

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Bucky agrees, leaning his head down and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. 

“I still can’t believe how lucky I got, the day I met you,” Steve murmurs, thinking for a moment about how different everything would be, right now, if that hadn’t happened. “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get over it.” 

Bucky feels his cheeks grow warm at those quiet words, and he nuzzles against his neck momentarily. “Think maybe we both got really lucky.” He lays his head back down against Steve’s chest, exhaling slowly and letting his eyes close. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, just curling his fingers gently in Bucky’s hair. “Yeah, I think we both did. Maybe the streak’ll hold, how’d that be for a change?” He thinks they’ve both had pretty good luck since they met, maybe with a few notable exceptions. But he thinks they both deserve to have good luck from here on out, even if it might not always be that way. But if they could just pile up more good luck than bad… they might just make it out. Together. 

“Hey, JARVIS, let me know when the food’s here,” he murmurs, ducking his cheek against the top of Bucky’s head. “In the meantime, I think we both deserve a nap.” Because nothing sounds better than staying right here with Bucky until their dinner arrives, and then planning out the next step in their lives together, setting the stage for the step after that one, and then the one after that.


	18. Chapter 18

**Four Months Later**

Bucky stands on a ladder to reach a book on the highest shelf for the older woman who’d requested it, glancing around the semi-busy shop as people mill around, browsing for copies of their favorite books or just something new to read. It’s heartening to see that even though Book Barnes had been out of commission for a few months, he recognizes several of the shoppers. He smiles as he climbs down once more, rolling the ladder toward the back and out of the way before heading up front to where Wanda is behind one of the two registers, ringing someone up.

“Here you go, Mrs. Faust,” he greets the old woman, handing the book over to her and jotting down the price on a receipt. “I hope you like it as much as I did.” 

“I’m just glad you’re back, dear,” she tells him, handing him some cash. 

He returns the smile. “Likewise,” he says sincerely. 

“And I _love_ the new sign!” 

Bucky’s expression brightens at that. “Me too. Steve made it.” He glances around, spotting Steve stocking one of the shelves with some books and talking to an older man at the same time, both looking deep in conversation. 

Steve had never really worked in a bookstore before Bucky reopened Book Barnes, but he’s learning how much he actually enjoys it. He’d read a lot as a kid and then a lot when he’d first come out of the ice, and he’d already had a good memory before the serum, but now it’s eidetic. It means he’s pretty good at helping people find what they need, and also pretty good at ordering stock and shelving things -- not that Bucky or Wanda are slouches in that area, either, because they’re both more familiar with bookshops than he is. 

But he thinks he would’ve liked working someplace like this as a kid, which is part of the story he’s in the middle of telling -- explaining to Ralph how he used to paint signs in grocers’ windows for extra cash. Ralph is just old enough to remember how scarce work was, although a little too young, he laments, to have enlisted before the war came to an end. (Although they both agree, now, that it was definitely for the best.) 

As though he senses Bucky looking at him, though, Steve pauses and glances up, giving his boyfriend a grin before finishing his story and picking up the pile of three books that Ralph had set on one of the tables they’ve got at the end of each aisle, bringing it up to the register with the white-haired patron trailing him. “I think he’s gonna start with these,” he tells Wanda, before shaking Ralph’s hand and shooting another grin at Bucky. “Finished putting out all the new stock. Looks like we’re gonna need it.” 

“Looks like,” Bucky agrees, smiling back at him, eyes brighter than usual. The store had only reopened again a week and a half ago, but every day has been busy. He knows that’s in no small part thanks to all the press coverage of his and Steve’s relationship. He’s certain quite a few people have come by in hopes of seeing Steve in particular, or just trying to see what things are like with them. Most of those people have actually ended up buying books, though, and so far none of them have been _too_ intrusive with their questions. 

Alpine jumps down onto the counter from where she’d been napping on the bookcase, meowing and sniffing curiously at the stack of books Wanda’s ringing up. Bucky reaches out and pets her, then turns his attention to Steve as a couple more customers poke around the shelves. He moves a little closer, pouring himself another cup of coffee and dousing it with sugar. “Getting a _lot_ of compliments on your sign,” he tells him, if only because he doesn’t think he’d heard Mrs. Faust’s remark. 

Steve knows that at least some of their business comes from people who are probably more interested in the bookshop’s owners than its books. But he guesses there is that saying about publicity, and while he’s not so sure it’s always true, it seems to be true in this case. Plus, not everyone who comes in to try to catch a glimpse of two bona fide Avengers is doing it to gawk -- there are people like Ralph, who say they’re much more approachable like this, and Steve kind of likes that. He’ll take the bad, as long as it comes with some good. 

Although speaking of good, he veritably lights up at Bucky’s comment. “Really?” he asks, and he can’t hide the way he’s relieved and pleased. “I mean… it’s the first sign I’ve made in about seventy years, I wasn’t sure it was going to turn out great.” But joking aside, he’d put a lot of work into it -- and heart and soul -- and he can’t help but be happy that people like it. “Maybe people will start buying back into handmade signs, what do you think? I could make us some extra cash on the side,” he adds, with a teasing smile. Not that he wouldn’t do it. He absolutely would. 

“I think we could sell them right here in the store. If you wanted,” Bucky answers, setting his coffee mug down on the counter and grinning at him. “Seriously. It’s great, Steve. I love it.” He’s told him that at least a couple dozen times since he’d finished, but it’s still true. “I think my Gramps would’ve loved it, too.” 

Steve laughs a little, but it’s clear he’s pleased, interested in Bucky’s idea. “Yeah? Books and signs.” He glances around; as promised, there is some of his art around the shop, although he still sees a few places that could use some color. “Maybe in between finishing the pieces for this place. I haven’t done this much painting in years.” And it’s clear he loves the chance to do it. 

“Yeah. After that,” Bucky agrees, glancing around too and smiling at the painting of the Brooklyn Bridge hanging above the door to their apartment, displayed high and prominent. It’s definitely his personal favorite, though he loves all of the paintings that Steve’s done. His boyfriend really is incredible when it comes to art -- and frankly, in his opinion, everything else. 

Bucky’s tempted to shift in, press a kiss against Steve’s mouth, but they’ve both been pretty low key when it comes to PDA. Natasha says it makes people uncomfortable. And one thing he’s learned is that Natasha is rarely ever wrong. He does reach out and take his hand, though, lacing their fingers together and squeezing lightly. “And… thank you again for the flowers this morning.” 

Steve certainly doesn’t mind touching in public, as long as it’s not excessive. He’s just never felt the need to show off like that, and God knows they get little privacy, as it is. People know they’re together -- hell, they know they’re mated, now, and they even know that Steve has a bite to match Bucky’s. That bomb had caused quite a stir when it had dropped, both good and bad, but Steve’s chosen to focus on the good, so long as the bad doesn’t get out of hand. It had definitely caused ripples in Bucky’s Omega Rights circles; Steve can’t help but feel a little proud of that. If they were going to use his name as a rallying cry, he’d rather have actually done something (other than offer himself up as a guinea pig) to earn it. This seems like a reasonable start. 

It definitely means they’ve gotten some threats and hate mail, but JARVIS has been screening a lot of it, and the shop’s security system is hooked into Tony’s network. Nothing is foolproof, but they’re as safe as they can be, and Steve thinks it’ll be enough. He certainly keeps an eye out during store hours, nonetheless, but so far, they’ve had no real trouble. 

Which is why it’s so easy for his grin to turn soft, as he leans in closer and bumps Bucky’s shoulder amenably. “Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad it wasn’t too old-fashioned for you. I like that little florist’s shop down the block. We should keep them in business.”

“It’s not too old fashioned at all. It’s very sweet,” Bucky says softly. No one had ever brought him flowers before, and the gesture had meant more than Steve probably realizes. He plans to return the favor at some point in the future. “Yeah, they’re good people, so I’m all for that.” 

Wanda glances over at them as she finishes writing the orders down in the log book and smiles at them. “Flowers are _never_ too old fashioned,” she tells Steve with a grin. “And for the record, boys, I like them too.” 

Bucky laughs quietly at that. “Noted.” 

“I think Wanda wants flowers, too, Buck,” Steve stage whispers to him, grinning right back, his eyes on Wanda. “I think we’d better do what she wants.” Truth be told, though, he’d be happy to buy Wanda flowers -- she’s been a real champ through all of this, and he won’t pretend otherwise. She’d more than deserve them. “What’s your favorite color, Wanda? Just -- for the record. In case a guy ever needs to know.” 

“For the record, I think all flowers are beautiful,” she tells them, amusement glittering in her eyes. “But my favorite color is red.” She smiles at him. 

Wanda’s really risen to the challenge of helping to manage a bookstore owned by superheroes; she’s taken everything in stride and Steve is pretty sure they really couldn’t have done it without her. He tries to make sure she knows, but a few hints on how to do that a little better certainly never go amiss. 

Bucky grins at the playful teasing between two of his favorite people in the world, glad that they get along so well. Wanda had graduated a couple months before and is working more hours at the shop, easily taking charge whenever Bucky and Steve need to go do something Avengers-related, which isn’t often -- though they’ve gone to a handful of meetings and, of course, the times when they’ve had to testify in court against various members of HYDRA. 

He definitely thinks Wanda deserves flowers. But today he’ll at least plan to buy her lunch. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve’s saying, just as the phone in his back pocket buzzes. He pulls it out, noticing that Bucky’s phone seems to be doing the same thing. And it doesn’t take long to figure out why -- he glances over at Bucky, smiling a little sheepishly as soon as he reads the text alert from the private, secure Avengers line. “Looks like we might have to call off a little early,” he says, knowing they won’t get the full sitrep until they get to the tower, but it must be serious if they’re both being called in immediately. His mind is already going to the small, secret closet they’d built into the new plans for the apartment, where his shield is sitting. The tower has extra uniforms for them both, but Steve always brings his shield home. 

Bucky glances at the pretty redhead. “Wanda, are you --” 

“I’m good here,” she assures them immediately, picking Alpine up and cuddling her against her torso. “And I’ll feed Alpine if it’s more than a few hours. Just let me know what else you need.” 

He smiles at her, warmth in his eyes. “You’re the best.” 

She grins back at him, then nods at the two of them. “Go save the world,” she says lightly. 

Bucky turns to look at Steve and raises his eyebrows. “Guess we should suit up.” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Steve says, with a nod of thanks to Wanda, too, before he glances back to Bucky with a grin to answer the look on his face and reaching out to tangle his fingers in Bucky’s and start leading him toward their apartment door at the back of the store. He laughs a little, grabbing his motorcycle keys off the table next to the door once they’re inside. “If you’re fast about it, I’ll even give you a ride to the tower.” 

Of course, the truth is, he’ll wait for Bucky. He’ll always wait for Bucky. They’re in this together, now. 

“Can’t pass up that opportunity,” Bucky chuckles quietly at that, knowing full well that whether he’s fast about it or not, Steve will wait for him. And there’s not much like riding on the back of Steve’s bike, arms wound around him and wind blowing through his hair. But he’s not going to waste time. If they’re being called in like this, it’s important. 

Time to help save the world again. 

He can hardly wait.


End file.
